


The Legend of Red Hood

by LuminescentLily



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alan-a-Dale!Isaac, Alive Laura, Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Robin Hood, BAMF Stiles, Bigotry & Prejudice, F/M, Friar Tuck!Finstock, Guy of Gisborne!Harris, I am physically incapable of writing a short fic, I'm not even going to try and write Medieval speech, Little John!Boyd, M/M, Maid Marian!Derek - sort of, Modern Speech, Much the Millers Son!Scott, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Prince John!Kate, Robin Hood!Stiles, Sassy Erica, Sexism, Slow Build, Sterek Campaign, The Sheriff is NOT evil!, Will Scarlet!Erica, will add more tags as they apply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:58:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 69,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminescentLily/pseuds/LuminescentLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With King Christopher and Crown Princess Allison away on Crusade, Queen Victoria has been ruthlessly raising taxes to pay for it. Stiles, an outspoken and crafty Omega has taken it upon himself to steal back from the greedy tax collector and give it to people who really need it. All without letting his father the Sheriff find out.</p><p>Meanwhile, Derek and his sisters have been living as virtual prisoners in the King's Palace, since his family's death. Fed up with how he is treated, he opens his mouth at the wrong time and gets assigned to track down the elusive thief that has been stealing money from the Crown. What at first seems like a fool's errand soon turns into something else entirely, when someone tries to kill him.</p><p>After being saved by the very outlaw he was sent to capture, Derek is forced to reexamine everything he thought he knew about power, loyalty, and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MagpieBlack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieBlack/gifts).



> This story is dedicated to the MagpieBlack, who gave me this awesome prompt that I'm going to have so much fun with.
> 
> A quick breakdown of characters for those who are familiar with the classic Robin Hood tales.
> 
> Robin Hood - Stiles - Red Hood  
> Maid Marian - Derek - Lord Derek  
> Much the Miller's Son - Scott - Scott the Miller's Son  
> Will Scarlet - Erica - Erica Golden  
> Little John - Boyd - Little Boyd  
> Alan-a-Dale - Isaac - Isaac-a-Dale  
> Friar Tuck - Coach Finstock - Friar Finstock  
> Sir Guy of Gisborne - Mr Harris - Sir Adrian of Harris  
> Sheriff of Nottingham - Papa Stilinski - Sheriff of Beacon(not evil)
> 
> Victoria and Kate are sort of splitting the Prince John character and Chris and Allison are splittting the character of King Richard.
> 
> I will probably bring more characters in later but I haven't quite worked out how yet, but I do know that Lydia will be in there somewhere.
> 
> I'm having a lot of fun writing this so I hope you like it!

 

 

***Somewhere Deep in the Forest on the King’s Road***

Crouching on a narrow platform, which was little more than a few planks of wood nailed between two upper branches, Stiles nervously ran his hand along the smooth yew wood of his bow and surveyed the King’s Road for approaching wagons. Winter was fast approaching and, at this height, the winds cut through him like daggers. Cursing and pulling his scarlet cloak tighter, he hoped that he wouldn’t have to be up in this tree for much longer.

Under any other circumstances, his bright red cloak would only draw unwanted attention but here, perched in his lofty hiding place, he blended in perfectly with the autumn foliage. And he would need all the stealth and surprise he could muster to take their expected target. Lord Whittemore of the nearby Manor was going to be sending all the taxes he’d collected from all his lands for the past month to the Queen at the Royal Palace today. Enough gold and silver to supply the entire region with food and blankets throughout what would surely be a long and bitter winter.

But it would be tricky. Not only were the Queen’s own soldiers coming to protect it, but Lord Whittemore had been crafty. He had arranged to send out two decoy wagons on the better known routs, to try and confuse bandits. But Stiles and his friends had an advantage. An ally in Whittemore’s Manor had tipped them off to the rout that the real shipment was on.

 _So, now I’m up here, freezing my balls off, looking for this stupid wagon._ He thought irritably.

He was just about to call down and have someone else trade places with him, when a movement along his peripheral vision caught his attention. At first glimpse, the wagon looked like any other wagon belonging to a farmer or peddler on the road, but squinting he could make out four large, burly men all wearing swords. This was the wagon they were waiting for. As it rounded the bend, he gave two short birdcalls to signal the others to be ready. He could see a few of his friends in their positions along the road but the rest were too well hidden. It didn’t matter because he knew they were there.

Scrambling down the tree, he only stumbled a few times and managed to land on his feet. Mostly. Among the trees to his left, he heard Scott snicker. His oldest friend had always found it hilarious how klutzy he was for an Omega. After all, Omegas were known for being graceful and light on their feet, two things that definitely didn’t apply to Stiles. But whatever coordination skills he lack in his feet, he more than made up for in his hands. He was the best shot with the bow and arrow in the region, maybe even the entire kingdom.

He moved into position just as the steady clip-clop of horse hooves drew closer and with it, their prize.

On the road, not too far ahead of the approaching wagon, Friar Finstock was waiting next to an overturned cart. As soon as the wagon came into view, Friar Finstock started waving his arms and calling for “help.” Had it been a regular peasant, the soldiers might have simply passed by, but even the cruelest of soldiers would think twice about ignoring a man of the cloth, for fear of their eternal souls. They slowed to a stop but didn’t get down from the wagon.

“Thanks be to the Lord, for he has surly sent you here to assist me,” Friar Finstock shouted, his fine speech contrasted oddly with his harsh voice.

“What happened here?” a soldier with hay colored hair asked.

“What in the name of Satan’s hairy balls does it look like happened,” Finstock said incredulously. “I was set upon by brigands. Me, a humble friar.”

At the Finstock’s words, all four men tensed up and three of them placed their hands on the hilts of their swords.

“When?” an older soldier snapped. Stiles had no doubt that he was the one in charge.

“Oh, early this morning,” Finstock waved dismissively. “They’re long gone now, those mangy curs. Took every penny I had and tipped over my cart just for a lark. I’ve been stuck here almost the entire day.”

“Sir, we should get moving,” a third soldier said. “If there are bandits on this road—”

“Now wait just a second there you little—I need help with my cart,” Finstock shouted. “What would the pious Queen Victoria think about you abandoning a simple Monk on the road in his hour of need?”

The soldiers all shifted uncomfortably at that. Everyone in the Kingdom knew how deeply Queen Victoria supported the Church and how she hated the Council of Druids. She was very much like Mad King Gerard in that respect. If word got back to her that her own men had treated a man of God poorly, then they would be in very big trouble.

Grudgingly, the soldiers got down from the wagon. The three younger ones moved to help but the cart right side up, while the one in charge kept a wary eye on the road ahead.

“Who was it that robbed you?” the older soldier asked.

“Why, it was that ill-bread crimson peacock and his band of scoundrels,” Finstock answered. “Lousy, trollish miscreants the lot of them.”

He then proceeded to describe each and every one of their hideous appearances in great detail, including missing and rotted teeth and quite a few boils. While Finstock Distracted them with his incessant talking, Stiles and his friends move closer, weapons drawn and closing in on all sides.

“Although, there was one among them wasn’t too grotesque,” Finstock continued. “He was actually rather handsome, in a dashing way. Tall and dark haired, with a strong aquiline nose and a charming smile.”

Stiles almost ruined their stealthy approach; he wanted to laugh at Finstock’s words so much. He knew that Finstock was describing himself, or thought he was describing himself. That crazy Friar’s capacity for insanity was only surpassed by his vanity.

Finstock was starting to ramble now, as he waxed poetically about himself, but it didn’t matter. Everyone was already in place. One shrill whistle from him and his friends burst out of the woods. Not all of his friends used a bow and arrow like him. Boyd was the best quarterstaff fighter in three counties and Erica was better with a sword than any knight of the realm. With surprise on their side they easily subdued the four men. Boyd and his quarterstaff took out two of the younger soldiers first. The older soldier drew his sword but froze, when he realized that Scott and Isaac had arrows trained on him.

Abandoning his fellow men, the last remaining soldier jumped back up to the wagon’s driver’s seat and viciously snapped the reigns to urge the horses to move and flee from this trap. But Stiles was ready for that. With three well placed shots in rapid succession, his arrows snapped through the straps connecting the horses to the wagon. The horses sprang free of their burden, running in terror, leaving the wagon stranded.

In their mad dash away from danger, the horses had dragged the soldier holding the reigns out of his seat and a good distance over the ground, before he gathered enough wits to let go. Cursing and choking on all the kicked up dirt and dust, the soldier shakily stood and attempted to draw his sword, only to be halted, when Erica put her own sword to his throat. She gently herded him back towards where the other three soldiers were waiting, huddled into a circle to defend against all sides.

“Impersonating a man of the cloth,” the older soldier snarled at Finstock. “If Queen Victoria doesn’t punish you, God surely will.”

“Believe it or not, he actually is a real Friar,” Stiles called out laughingly from the woods.

Pulling down his hood to cover most of his face, he boldly stepped forward out of the tree line.

“You know who I am?” Stiles asked, his voice brimming with smug amusement.

 “You’re the Red Hood,” one of the soldiers spat.

He couldn’t help the surge of pride that swelled through him. With his bow in hand and an arrow held loosely, ready to fire, he was in his element. In moments like this, he wasn’t just some lowly Omega. He was the Red Hood, Scourge of the Queen’s Soldiers, Lord of the Forest, and Hero of the People. Moments like this were the only time he felt truly alive.

“Good,” Stiles smirked. “Then you know why we’re here and what we want. Now drop your swords and you may leave with your lives. It’s the gold we’re after, not you.”

 “The Queen will have our heads on pikes, if we surrender another collection of taxes to you,” one of the younger soldiers said with genuine fear.

“The Queen has a shortage of soldiers as it is, with most of the able bodied men away with King Christopher,” Stiles replied confidently. “She won’t risk weakening herself by executing her own men. The worst you’ll face is a few days in the stocks.”

“How do we know you’ll let us live,” the older soldier asked skeptically.

“If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead,” Stiles said seriously. “You all know my reputation. I don’t believe in killing, not even soldiers like you.”

“You may not kill us directly,” one of the younger soldiers said. “But we’ll never survive through the woods at night. And there are other, less noble, highwaymen in these woods.”

Stiles rubbed his chin for a moment and pretended to think.

“Those were sturdy draft horses pulling the wagon,” Stiles noted. “Good for pulling heavy cargo but not that fast or that that smart. They couldn’t have gotten too far. They’re probably waiting just around the next bend. If you hurry, you might even make it back to the castle before nightfall.”

The soldier who had been dragged behind the horses looked like he wanted to fight but the other two younger ones looked scared and a little hopeful. The older one considered his offer, then sighed in defeat and lowered his sword.

“Drop you’re swords,” the older soldier huffed.

“But Sir—”

“That’s an order!”

The soldiers all dropped their swords to the ground.

“Daggers too,” Stiles said.

There were a few grumbles but they complied to that as well. Once they were all disarmed, Stiles went and climbed up onto the wagon. He rummaged around until he found a wineskin and a loaf of bread and tossed them to the soldiers.

“All right,” Stiles said. “Now give me the key to the money chest.”

“I don’t have it,” the older soldier barked.

“Really,” Stiles said, drawing back his bow and aiming an arrow squarely at him.

“He’s telling the truth,” the soldier with hay colored hair pleaded. “The key was sent ahead so that we couldn’t skim any for ourselves.”

Stiles lowered his bow. “I believe you.”

“Now then,” Stiles smirked. “You are free to go but my men will keep an eye on you until you leave the forest. The sun sets sooner now that winter approaches, so I suggest you get on your way.”

They weren’t really going to follow them out of the forest, but it couldn’t hurt to let them think that.

The older soldier gave him a hateful glare, but led his men down the road in the direction that the horses had run. The dust covered soldier threw Erica a dirty look as he passed, earning him a swift jab in the rear end with the quarterstaff from Boyd.

Once they were out of sight, everyone let out cheers and whoops of delight.

“Didn’t I tell you it would be easy,” Stiles crowed. “All we needed to do was get them out of the wagon, our reputations did the rest.”

“Did you see their faces!” Scott exclaimed delightedly. “I thought the blonde one was going to piss himself, when you came out of the trees.”

“How about the one who was dragged by the horses?” Erica laughed.

“How about how awesome I was in shooting the horses free!” Stiles boasted.

“But why did you have to give them the wineskin,” Finstock complained. “I haven’t had a good drink in ages.”

“You drank half a cask of ale last night,” Scott said accusingly.

“Besides,” Stiles cut in. “That was soldier’s rations. It was probably more vinegar than wine.”

After that they got to work going through the wagon. The first thing they did was take down the money chest. It was a good sized, sturdy chest with an imposing looking lock. There was a pleasant tinkling sound of coins jostling against each other, as they put it on the ground.

“All right you halfwits, step aside,” Finstock barked as he pulled a roll of lockpicks out of his robe. “Let the master get to work.”

The Friar may be more than a little touched in the head, but he was a genius with locks. Almost as fast as Stiles could draw and shoot an arrow, Finstock had the chest open, revealing their bounty. Everyone crowded in for a look. Stacks and rows of gold, silver, and copper coins were arranged neatly in individual compartments. This one chest held more money than the average family would earn in a lifetime.

Stiles took out a gold coin to see the profile of King Christopher on one side. Flipping it over, he beheld a Crowned Bow and Arrow, the royal crest of the House of Argent, on the other side.

Erica whistled, her eyes glittering, “This will keep us warm through winter.”

At the back of the chest was a thick leather bound book. Stiles picked it up and leafed through the pages. It was clearly an account book. There in orderly rows and columns, written in a scribe’s precise handwriting, was a record of every cent in the chest and who it had been collected from.

“This will be useful,” Stiles thought aloud.

“Why?” Isaac asked. “We already have the gold.”

“But this will help us see who needs help the most for this coming winter,” Stiles answered. “All right, let’s get this packed up and back to camp.”

He wasn’t worried that the soldiers would come back this way, but he always felt too exposed out in the open on the road like this. He much preferred the protection of the densely wooded forest. They closed the chest and quickly went through the rest of the items in the wagon. There wasn’t much, just some rope, a horse blanket, and an empty barrel. Nothing special but still useful and every little bit helped.

The wagon was nice as well. It was just an ordinary wagon, completely indistinguishable from any other peasant wagon, which had kind of been the point. There was no way they could get it through the forest to their camp without disassembling it, but Scott said that he knew a farmer in the nearby village who needed a new one, after the tax collectors had confiscated his old one. Without the men and gold to weigh it down, it was light enough for Scott and Isaac to pull, which was a good thing because they needed Boyd to carry the money chest back to camp.

They also collected all the soldiers’ swords and daggers because good weapons—or even decent weapons—were hard to come by. Erica swung around the soldiers’ swords to see if any were suitable for her but in the end she stuck with her own blade. It wasn’t great but it was still better quality steel than that of the soldiers.

Once they had everything packed up in Finstock’s smaller cart, they set off into the woods, with the exception of Scott and Isaac, who took off with the wagon in the opposite direction that the soldiers had gone.

Soon they were far into the forest and safe from any pursuers. It was only then, that Stiles really let himself relax and enjoy his victory. They’d just taken enough money to see not only themselves through this coming winter, but at least seven or eight villages as well.

 _Not bad, for a dishonest day’s work._ He thought to himself. _Not bad at all._

 

 

***Many Miles Away at the Royal Palace***

Derek fidgeted uncomfortably for what felt like the hundredth time in the last few minutes. He hated being at Court. And he especially hated being the Great Hall. Even though he knew it was ridiculous, he could never shake the feeling of unease, like the empty suits of armor lining the wall were watching him or that there were spies behind the magnificent tapestries instead of solid stone walls.

Then there were the clothes. He could never get used to Court dress. It was itchy and uncomfortable and his high starched collar always felt like it was strangling him. He much preferred a simple linen shirt and the leather trousers of the Kings cavalry to the heavily embroidered doublet, with ridiculously puffed sleeves, and woolen hose he had to wear while in the presence of the Queen.

More than anything, he wished that he had been allowed to join King Christopher and Crown Princess Allison in the Crusade.

He didn’t have any great lust for battle or religious fervor. No, he had wanted to join them simply to gain a little bit of freedom. Even though they were called wards, he and his sisters, Laura and Cora, were really prisoners of the Royal Family and had been for years.

When he was sixteen summers old, King Gerard had gone crazy and declared magic to be evil and executed every Druid he could get his hands on. Derek’s mother, the Duchess of Hale had protested his actions and rebelled against him in the Druid’s defense. For that she and the rest of his family had been burned alive in their own castle. Derek and his sisters had only just escaped the flames, thanks to their Uncle Peter’s sacrifice. It was only after his family’s death that the other nobles rose up and rallied behind Crown Prince Christopher. Mad King Gerard had killed himself rather than surrender the throne and Prince Christopher had been declared King.

Even though, King Christopher had reversed all of his father’s proclamations and reinstated the Council of Druids, he was still his father’s son. He declared Derek and his sisters to be his ward, so he could bring them to Court and keep a close eye on them, even though Laura was now Duchess of Hale and old enough to claim the Hale lands. King Christopher didn’t trust them because, next to the Royal family, they were the most powerful and influential nobles in the kingdom. If Derek’s mother had succeeded, it could have very easily have been her sitting on the throne and King Christopher could never forget that.

But at least King Christopher was somewhat kind about it. He never showed them any overt signs of affection but he didn’t hate them. For the most part, he had ignored them, until forced to recognize them at Royal functions. The same could not be said of Queen Victoria. From the moment they had first entered the Royal Palace, she had looked at them like they were slime that she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoes. Only the thinnest veil of courtesy covered her distain for them.

She was particularly vindictive when she was in a foul mood. There couldn’t be any clearer evidence of that right now than where she had stationed them to stand in the Great Hall. Right in front of one of the cavernous fireplaces. She knew how the three of them hated fire, how Cora still suffered from nightmare about the night that their family was murdered. She took pleasure from their discomfort and did it to unnerve them. And it worked. It was nearly impossible to truly concentrate on anything with flames licking at their backs.

Despite the roaring fires, there was a chill in the air that everyone could feel because of the Queen’s ire. She sat stiffly in on her throne, looking particularly fearsome, with her ice blue gown and silver fillet crown gleaming like steal. The larger throne beside her was draped in a white cloth and would remain that way, until the King’s return from the Crusade.

Presently the Court Herald was reading the latest report of King Christopher’s progress in the Holy Lands. It was the same as it had been for months, the gist of which was heavy troop losses, shortages of weapons, shortages of supplies, send more money.

The only problem was that there wasn’t any money to send. Queen Victoria had been squeezing the country dry with taxes in an effort to raise money for her husband and daughter but it was never enough. She kept on raising taxes but each time they collected less and less. To make matters worse, there were increasing reports of thieves high-jacking the tax collector’s wagons and stealing all the revenues. Most of the reports indicated one thief in particular, distinguished by the red hooded cloak he wore. What made this particular thief truly noteworthy was that he apparently wasn’t keeping any of the money he stole for himself, but was giving it back to the people. A noble sentiment, unless you are the Queen and trying to raise money for war.

“How much does my husband, the King, require?” Queen Victoria interrupted the Herald’s reading.

“P-Pardon, Y-Your Majesty,” the herald stuttered.

“How much money does he need!” Queen Victoria growled.

“Oh, um,” the Herald quickly scanned the rest of the letter. “His Majesty requests the sum of f-four thousand g-gold pieces b-but, if that isn’t p-possible, then the l-least he w-would need is t-two thousand g-gold p-pieces.”

Normally, the Court Herald was quite eloquent with a steady, booming voice but even the bravest of men would quake under threat of the Queen’s displeasure.

 _She’s the type to shoot the messenger for delivering bad news._ Derek thought darkly.

“There isn't even one thousand gold pieces in the Royal Coffers at the moment,” Queen Victoria stated bitterly.

“There is some hope, Your Majesty,” one of the Royal Councilors spoke up timidly. “The revenues from the Whittemore lands are on their way to the Palace as we speak.”

“Or the Red Hood is stealing it as we speak,” called out a smoky voice from the entrance of the Great Hall.

All eyes turned to see Lady Katherine—late, as usual—sweep into the hall in a flurry of rustling silks. In a gown of royal purple and cloth of gold, no one would ever mistake her for anything other than a member of the ruling family. The cost of that one dress alone could feed three villages for a year.

 _Her brother struggles in the Holy Land and the people starve, but Lady Katherine has new gowns and jewels every week._ Derek observed in disgust.

He looked down so that he wouldn’t risk meeting her eye.

He ground his foot on a strewing herb on the floor to release a more pleasant odor. Unfortunately, it couldn’t do much for the noxious smell of smoke emanating from behind him. His Alpha sense of smell was more of a curse than a gift in this hall and he always got a little overwhelmed in close quarters with this many people.

His attention had drifted, only to be pulled back by a new, strong voice.

“Lady Katherine, we simply cannot keep taxing the people,” Sheriff Stilinski spoke up.

Lady Katherine gave him a cold look; her eyes were as hard as the diamonds at her throat. She hated being reminded of her proper title and preferred to be addressed as Princess Katherine, even though she had no right to it.

“They have already paid; it isn’t their fault that this bandit keeps stealing their taxes,” Sheriff Stilinski protested.

“But isn’t this bandit supposedly giving the money back to the people,” she pointed out in an overly sugary voice. “Surely then, they have the funds to pay us again.”

“From what I understand, he gives it back to them in the form of food, medicine, and other supplies,” the Sheriff replied.

“Well, then we should raise taxes on the merchants he’s buying them from,” Lady Katherine shrugged as if the answer were that easy.

“I’m afraid that would create just as many problems,” a low voice spoke out from the other side of the hall. High Druid Deaton stepped forward and continued. “In an effort to pay the higher taxes, the merchants would raise their prices and most people would not be able to afford to buy what they normally would. Winter will soon be upon us and the people will need every little bit they have just to survive until spring.”

“A good winter could solve our problems for us,” Katherine said with a disturbing smile. “All the old and sick will die out, but the strong will live to work the fields in spring. There will be fewer mouths to feed, which means a larger share can go to the crown.”

“I doubt that the people will see it that way,” Deaton countered.

Up on her Throne, Queen Victoria clenched her fists in anger, the tight sleeves of her gown showing off the corded muscles of her arms.

“And what does my council have to say on this matter?” Queen Victoria snarled.

“W-Well Your Majesty, we believe that we must look to other avenues to raise money,” a heavily sweating member of the council spoke up. “It would be unadvisable to ask anything more of the lower classes before spring. There is always the option of a loan—”

“I won’t run this country into the debt at the hands of a foreign nation,” Queen Victoria barked, her eyes flashing red. “My husband, their King, is starving in a foreign land fighting heathens day and night and the people complain over a few more coins and a little bread.”

Several members of the Royal Council cowered.

“With respects, Your Majesty,” High Druid Deaton’s calm voice replied. “This year’s harvest was very poor. The grounds were still frozen well into spring, delaying the planting and the frosts are coming earlier than expected, spoiling much of the harvest.”

“And this _Red Hood_ has been stealing the lion’s share of the taxes we’ve collected from the beginning,” Queen Victoria sneered.

Derek held bad a snort. The Red Hood only started robbing the tax collectors after the third time the Queen raised them, when the people had to take the shirts off their backs or were forced from their homes to pay the Crown. He didn’t fully agree with what the Red Hood did, but he was fairly certain that the people would have risen up in revolt by now if not for him. Queen Victoria didn’t understand this because she had been raised at Court all her life, where nobles ran everything and peasants only existed to serve. She knew little to nothing about the actual people she ruled.

“Why have you not been able to capture this thief?” Queen Victoria demanded, fixing her gaze on Sheriff Stilinski.

“We’ve tried, Your Majesty,” the Sheriff said forlornly. “But the reports we get about him are a mess. The few descriptions of his physical appearance that we get are vague and often contradictory. And we don’t know where exactly he regularly strikes because few people ever report that they were robbed. Without knowing where he strikes, we can’t accurately narrow down where in the forest he resides.”

“What about the nobles he robs?” Queen Victoria asked. “Surely they would report where they were robbed and what this bandit looks like.”

Derek heard more than a few nobles in the hall murmur and shift uncomfortably.

“The Red Hood thought of that as well,” the Sheriff said wearily, rubbing the back of his neck. “It is a well know fact that the Red Hood poaches the deer of the forest.”

“The King’s deer,” Queen Victoria corrected.

“An offense worthy of severe punishment,” the Sheriff nodded in agreement and grimaced.

Derek grimaced as well. A person caught poaching the Kings deer could be hanged, castrated, blinded, or even have a hand chopped off. Mad King Gerard had once punished a man caught poaching on his favorite hunting grounds by sewing him into a deerskin and having the Royal hunting dogs chase him down and rip him apart.

“To keep the nobles he robs from alerting the constables, he forces them to share a meal of the King’s deer with him so that, if they did admit to being robbed, they would also be admitting their own guilt. Many nobles would choose to lose the contents of their purse in silence, rather than to lose a hand or worse.”

“What about the reward we offered,” Queen Victoria inquired.

“The people won’t turn him in,” Lady Katherine laughed. “They protect him, and his men. When the Sheriff’s constables approach, they hid them and help them sneak back into the forest. They _love_ him. They call him a hero.”

“He steals money that would have gone to feeding and better arming their loved ones in the Holy Land and they call him a Hero for it,” Queen Victoria said incredulously. “Why can we not simply send a squadron of men into the forest and flush him out?”

“Because the forest is too large,” Derek muttered under his breath.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted it. His sisters tensed up beside him and the Queen’s eyes locked on him. Queen Victoria might not fully understand the land she rules but she was still an Alpha, with Alpha hearing.

“You have something to contribute, Lord Derek?” Queen Victoria asked icily, her eyes daring him to refuse.

Laura threw him a cautioning look but it was already too late. The attention of every person in the hall was focused on him. He had to answer.

“The forest are too vast, Your Majesty,” Derek said simply. “And the bandits know it better than any others in the kingdom. Any men sent into the woods would be hopelessly lost or easily surrounded by the Red Hood and his men. If you sent an even larger group, they would make too much noise, trampling through the trees. It would alert the bandits to their presence long before your men ever caught sight of them and flee to another area.”

“And how would you suggest going about capturing this bandit?” Queen Victoria asked acidly.

Derek could feel his sisters’ gazes boring into him from both sides. He was on dangerous ground and he knew it. He should just tell Queen Victoria that he didn’t know, let her make some snide remark about knowing his place or speaking out of turn, and have that be the end of it.

But he couldn’t.

Maybe he was too agitated from the flames behind him or maybe he had simply reached his breaking point from living here at Court, but he just couldn’t hold his tongue.

“I would send a small group of men, skilled in fighting, and have them led by an experienced tracker,” Derek stated confidently. “Someone who could scout out the King’s Road, until the Red Hood and his men strike, follow the band back to their camp, and then capture them, while they slept.”

For a moment, Queen Victoria was taken aback. She wasn’t used to Derek standing up to her, or anyone for that matter. What was more, when her shock faded, she could see that Derek’s plan was sound. And she didn’t want to admit that.

“That is a well conceived plan,” Sheriff Stilinski spoke first. “I could put the men together, but finding a good tracker will be more difficult.”

“If I’m not mistaken,” Lady Katherine spoke up in her sickeningly sweet tone. “The Dukes and Duchesses of Hale were renowned for their hunting prowess. I’m sure that Lord Derek was well versed in the arts of hunting and tracking, before his family’s unfortunate demise.”

He was confused by her meaning at first but then he understood. And, like most prey, by the time he saw the trap closing in, it was already too late to escape.

“Is this true?” Queen Victoria asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, every word another nail in his coffin.

“Very well then,” Queen Victoria announced, with the finality of the executioner’s ax. “You will lead a group of men into the forest.”

Beside him, he felt his sisters shudder.

“Find this _red hooded thief_ ,” Queen Victoria commanded. “And bring me his head.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by heronoblesse at http://heronoblesse.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so proud of myself that I managed to finish this chapter by my Monday deadline. I thought about posting it tomorrow as a Christmas Eve gift to my readers but then I remembered that the Library I use to post new chapters would be closed. Anyway, I hope you guys like it.
> 
> Also, I found this great piece of fanart on tumblr that looks exactly like how I picture Stiles would look as Robin Hood. You can see it here  
> http://luminescentlily.tumblr.com/post/67390755116/xiaopa25-screaming-in-the-dark-i-howl-when

 

 

***Derek’s Quarters in the Royal Palace***

“Why did you have to provoke her like that,” Laura scolded, as she paced up and down the room. “You know how tenuous our position is here at Court.”

Derek ignored her and continued sorting through his clothes, trying to choose something suitable for traveling. There wasn’t much to choose from. Most of his worldly belongings had been destroyed in the fire that killed his family. Once they were moved to the Royal Palace, he hadn’t seen the need to replace most of it. He was content with his Spartan room. Nothing more than a single chair, a table with a few books borrowed from the King’s library, a chest to hold his clothes, and a bed that was just large enough for him, with a thick wool blanket.

“There’s no use yelling at him now,” Cora scoffed from across the room. She was seated on his only chair—really more of a stool—staring blankly out the narrow window. “It’s already done.”

“Don’t underestimate the danger he’s in,” Laura stressed. “Neither of you two seems to realize the protection being a Court affords us. The Queen may dislike us, but she wouldn’t dare make a move while were here under the King’s protection, in name if not fact. Out there it would be all too easy to arrange an _accident_ to dispose of us.”

“She doesn’t have to _dispose_ of me to get what she wants,” Derek said venomously. “This is a fool’s errand, meant to humiliate me and put us in our place. No one expects me to actually succeed.”

“He’s right,” Cora agreed. “The Queen will send him out with a few guards; they’ll escort him a little ways up and down the King’s Road and then bring him back in disgrace, the Court will have a good laugh at our expense, and then everything will go back to normal.”

Cora was right, of course. When he came back, there would be no shortage of jokes and hilarity at his expense, but nothing would really change. His public shaming might put the Queen into a good mood for a few days, until the next report of the Red Hood’s activities came in.

Laura opened her mouth to say something but stopped before the words reached her lips.

Derek and Laura were both Alphas with advanced speed, strength, and senses. So, even before she was visible in the doorway, the two of them heard the distinctive sounds of Lady Katherine coming down the hall. The rhythmic click of her heals and rustle of her skirts announced her approach loud and clear.

“Lady Katherine,” Laura nodded her head in acknowledgment, as Lady Katherine appeared in the doorway.

“Lady—”

“Duchess,” Laura corrected, cutting Lady Katherine off and reminding her that Laura outranked her. By rights, Lady Katherine should have bowed to Laura as well.

Instead, Lady Katherine gave her a tight, cruel smile.

“To what do we own the pleasure of this visit?” Laura inquired.

“Why I simply came to wish Lord Derek luck in his endeavor,” Lady Katherine smiled sweetly. “Going forth to bring such a nefarious villain to justice. You’ll be the hero of everyone in the Kingdom.”

 _I sincerely doubt that._ He thought bitterly. _Even if I were to succeed in capturing the Red Hood, the people would hate me for it._

Without warning, Lady Katherine moved forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

There was a time, when a simple kiss on the cheek from her would have filled him with pride and elation. Back when he was young and stupid. Now all it did was fill him with revulsion. He wanted to turn away from her touch and shiver in disgust. He did neither of those things, and instead stood still as her lips defiled his skin. The stench of her rose perfume overwhelmed him, burning his eyes and sticking in the back of his throat.

“A kiss for luck,” she whispered loud enough for Laura and Cora to hear.

She stepped back and he was able to breathe again. His hand itched to wipe her kiss from his cheek but he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much she repulsed him.

“Perhaps, if you return victorious, I could reward you with something a little more intimate,” she crooned with a lascivious grin.

His skin crawled at the very thought.

What made it worse was that Derek knew exactly why she would suggest such a thing. Lady Katherine would do anything to get another chance at the Throne.

In the Kingdom of Beacon, only Alphas could inherit the throne or be eligible in the line of succession. Before she died, the former Queen had produced two children for King Gerard. Since there were two possible heirs and Gerard and his wife had both been Alphas, everyone assumed that at least one of them would be an Alpha as well, so Gerard had never remarried.

Whether or not someone is an Alpha, Beta, or Omega doesn’t manifest, until the mid to late teens. Christopher was several years older than Katherine and, when he manifested as a Beta, everyone had assumed that Katherine would be an Alpha and heir, treating her accordingly. King Gerard doted on his presumed heir and many at Court spoiled Katherine in the hopes of winning favor with the future Queen. So it came as quite a shock, when Katherine also manifested as a Beta.

There had never been a King without at least one Alpha child in the past hundred years of the Kingdom’s history. The Court was thrown into chaos trying to decide what to do. Gerard was too old to father another child and all the nearest royal relatives were all Betas as well. It was finally decided Christopher and Katherine would marry an Alpha, who could be their co-ruler. Once the both of them were securely mated to an Alpha, they could decide which one would be heir to the Throne. Christopher immediately took Victoria as his wife and quickly produced their first child, the current Alpha Crown Princess Allison. Katherine on the other hand was not as fortunate.

In the years before she manifested, when everyone kissed the ground she walked on, Katherine had been a bit of a wild child. She would race war horses in the busy streets, knocking over carts and merchants’ stalls in the process, she threw scandalous parties, and took several lovers from high ranking families, callously discarding them one after another. So, when it came time for her to find an Alpha of her own, not even a crown was enough incentive to tempt anyone. More to the point, there were several noble families who didn’t want Katherine on the Throne. Either they had all been insulted by her in the past or they were simply smart enough to realize that she would make a terrible ruler compared to her calmer, steadier brother.

When she showed up at Hale Castle wanting Derek or Laura as her mate, his mother hadn’t even let her in the front gates.

For whatever reason, Katherine found no mate in her own country. An Alpha from another country was out of the question, because no one at Court wanted a foreigner on the Throne.

With no Alpha willing to mate her, Gerard had been forced to declare Prince Christopher his heir and even had to strip Katherine of her title as Princess, to show that she had been completely removed from the line of succession. From that day forward, she was Lady Katherine and nothing else.

People might have felt more pity for her, if she had shown even an ounce of humility. Instead, she had raged at her fate, had threatened to shoot several nobles with her crossbow, and generally made a spectacle of herself. When her father went mad, she fought on his side. Later, when he was defeated, she claimed that he had forced her to side with him. No one believed her, but the newly made King Christopher couldn’t bring himself to kill his own sister.

The King and Queen put up with her presumptuous airs and looked the other way, when she insisted on be addressed as Princess. Maybe King Christopher felt sorry for her or felt guilty about claiming the Throne that she had always thought would be hers. Whatever the cause, he allowed her to remain at Court and didn’t force her into marriage with a Beta Lord. Now she occupied her time spending money like water, trying to trap Alphas into marriage, and generally making a nuisance of herself.

If he were ever caught in a compromising position with Lady Katherine, there was a real possibility that he would be forced to marry her. She wouldn’t gain back the Throne, but she might at least be able to legitimately call herself Princess Katherine again and there was a chance that her children could rejoin the line of succession.

“I doubt that will be necessary,” he gritted out.

Behind him, Cora rose from her seat and moved to stand next to him in silent support.

“Oh, not as confident as you were in the Great Hall yesterday,” Lady Katherine teased. “Well, then maybe you’ll need someone to soothe your wounded pride.”

Before he could answer, Laura stepped in front of him and gave Lady Katherine an icy glare that could rival the Queen’s, “I think his family will be more than capable of consoling him, if that were to happen.”

“Yes, well, you do have more experience, when it comes to consoling your family’s losses,” Lady Katherine said sharply.

Without waiting for Laura’s reply, Lady Katherine spun on her heels and left the room, leaving a faint, lingering odor of rose perfume in her wake.

“The King should have executed her when he took the Throne,” Cora stated bitterly.

Derek wordlessly agreed.

“Be careful of your words, sister,” Laura cautioned. “You never know who might be listening.”

 

 

After Lady Katherine’s visit, Laura eased up on her fretting and allowed him to finish preparing. They only had one more major argument and that was over what type of armor Derek should wear. If Derek had his way, he wouldn’t wear any armor, as it would only slow him down and make too much noise. Laura wanted him to wear his Hale armor, one of the few things that had survived the fire.

The armor in question, was enameled black with golden scrollwork and a helmet fashioned to look like a wolf, after their family crest of a black wolf on a field of green and gold. Derek had only worn it twice at Court, once at Crown Princess Allison’s knighting ceremony and the second, when the Court had bid farewell to the King and Crown Princess. The rest of the time it was “kept safe” for him in the King’s armory.

It was impressive armor and would no doubt protect him admirably in battle, but it was also very heavy and hard to move in. And it was very noticeable. The second anyone spotted him in it he would be a target.

As a compromise, he chose to wear a simple leather brigandine. The multitude of small steel plates would afford him a moderate amount of protection without sacrificing his maneuverability and the leather would dampen the any excess sound. That combined with a simple shirt and trousers and he looked like any other average peasant on the King’s Road. Just the sort that the Red Hood overlooks in favor of richer prey.

_This mission might be a joke but that doesn’t mean I can’t at least try._

He planned to leave at dawn the following morning, so he and his sisters ate a quite supper in Laura’s room. The next morning, when the sky was still dark, he headed down to the stables to meet the men that would accompany him. It annoyed him that he hadn’t even been allowed to choose the men who would be his escorts.

“Lord Derek!”

Derek turned to see Sheriff Stilinski walking towards him purposefully.

Derek stopped to allow him to catch up. The Sheriff of the Hills region was one of the few honest men Derek had met at Court and the only one he genuinely liked. He still remembered how the Sheriff had pulled his sisters and him aside, when they first arrived at the King’s Palace, and expressed condolences for the deaths of their family that were more than just hollow sentiments.

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Derek acknowledged. “I wasn’t aware you had been chosen to be a part of this hunt.”

“I wasn’t,” the Sheriff sighed heavily. “Despite my objections, the Queen decided I was needed elsewhere, along with the men I had chosen to accompany you.”

His heart sank a little at that. It would have been one thing to work with men who reported to the Sheriff and who might actually be interested in catching the Red Hood, it was quite another to be shackled with guards chosen by the Queen. Knowing her, she had probably chosen the dumbest, slowest, and laziest men under her command to escort him.

“I heard that you decided not to wear your family’s traditional armor,” the Sheriff said, eyeing his attire. “I think that was a wise decision, but I thought you could use this.”

Resting in the Sheriff’s outstretched hands was the Hale family sword.

It was a magnificent blade of the best quality steel with a pommel of jet carved into the shape of a wolf’s head. Generations of his ancestors had wielded this sword in battle. The last time he had seen it was when his mother had knighted him.

“I have a friend down in the armory who owes me a few favors,” the Sheriff smiled. “And it seemed a shame for a beautiful blade like this to idle away rusting, when there’s real need of it.”

Derek was speechless as the Sheriff pressed the sword into his hands. He held it gingerly, almost afraid that it would disappear before his eyes. The sheath was frayed and worn from age, but when he drew the blade, it gleamed.

“I…I don’t…I can’t possibly use this,” he said softly, not taking his eyes off the sword. “This whole mission is a farce. No one thinks I have a chance at actually catching the Red Hood.”

“I do,” the Sheriff said.

“You do?”

“It’s a solid plan and you’re more than capable of carrying it out,” the Sheriff smiled. “I have faith in you.”

“You never struck me as the religious sort,” Derek said. _Because it’s going to take a miracle for that to happen._

“The way I see it, religion and faith are two entirely different things,” the Sheriff explained. “Lots of folks go to Church and have religion but not too many people have faith in each other like they ought to.”

“Sheriff I…”

“Call me John,” the Sheriff smiled.

“I can’t thank you enough—”

“You can thank me by coming back in one piece,” the Sher—John laughed. “Now you better get a move on, if you want to be on the road by dawn.”

Derek could only nod like a village idiot. He turned and made his way to the stables in a daze, only thinking to sheath the sword and buckle it to his belt when he heard the horses whinnying.

He liked horses. Most of the time, they were better companions than people and going out for long rides was the closest thing he had to freedom these days. For this mission, he chose a dark, spirited stallion as his mount. The beautiful creature was probably the only one in the Palace who was just as desperate for freedom as Derek himself.

When his escort arrived, he was gratified to see that the men the Queen had chosen were at least dressed in a similar fashion as he was. Although, given the salary of the average soldier, those might just be their regular clothes.

Unfortunately, their clothes were the only thing he liked about them. He had been spot on, when he had guessed that the Queen would send her worst soldiers to be his guards. They were three rat-like men who could have been brothers with similar oily hair and sunken eyes. They weren’t the most athletically inclined and looked like the closest they’d ever been to a forest was a potted plant. The only reason he could think of that these men had been accepted into the Royal Guard was because all the better men were away with the King on Crusade.

He gave them a brief rundown of what his plan was and the three of them nodded. No doubt they had already received different orders from the Queen about keeping him in line.

Derek’s mood was pretty glum as the four of them rode out of the Palace. Sheriff Stilinski watched them leave from up on the outer wall, above the Front Gate. Not for the first time, Derek thought what a shame it was that the Sheriff’s only child was an Omega, who couldn’t take his father’s place when the old man retired. He vaguely recalled the Sheriff’s son; a loud, talkative, clumsy boy, who drove the Palace Guards crazy with his boundless curiosity and propensity for getting into trouble. No doubt the boy was now in some Convent, learning to cook and sew and whatever else Omegas learned to please their future mates.

 _A shame_. Derek thought again. _The Kingdom could use more men like Sheriff Stilinski._

 

 

They rode for a few miles in silence and Derek could almost enjoy his small reprieve from Court. The sun rose on a beautifully, clear day that reminded him of the days when his family would go hunting or hawking in the lands surrounding their castle.

He briefly entertained the idea of simply leaving and never coming back. The three guards with him were all loyal to Queen Victoria and no doubt had orders to prevent something like that, but it wouldn’t be too hard to ditch them. His horse was much faster than theirs and they didn’t seem like they were the smartest men in the Kingdom.

But then he thought of his sisters and dismissed the idea altogether. He could never abandon his sisters like that. They were the only family he had left and, if he were to run away, he knew that Queen Victoria would punish them for it.

His three guards seemed to grow bolder and more confident the further away from the Palace they rode. Soon after the Palace disappeared from sight, they started talking amongst themselves. They seemed to find this assignment as much of a farce as he did and were loudly joking about it. They boasted mockingly of catching the ‘wolfshead’, even though they were probably aware that it was a slur against his family.

After his Mother had rebelled, King Gerard had declared his entire family to be traitors and outlawed them all. As a play on words with their family crest, he offered a reward for any ‘wolfshead’ that was brought to him. Even years later, the word ‘wolfshead’ was still used synonymously for ‘outlaw’.

Derek chose to ignore them and focus his attention on his surroundings. They had traveled far enough down the King’s Road and were now entering the deeper part of the forest. He kept an eye out for any good places to set a trap for the Red Hood but so far nothing seemed adequate.

The guards with him weren’t of much help. They were supposed to be on a stealth mission, but they didn’t seem to care. They were noisy and carefree. One with a particularly off-key voice, started singing a lewd song about a barmaid who was apparently quite generous with her affections.

Gritting his teeth, Derek tried to ignore them.

By midmorning, he spotted a bend in the road. It was a sharp turn surrounded by plenty leafy trees and brushes. A large tree had fallen down, blocking the road. It might have been hit by lightning or simply collapsed from age but it effectively blocked the road. It would be a perfect place to set up an ambush.

 _But it wouldn’t be of any use._ He thought dejectedly. _Not even the Red Hood would dare to strike this close to the Royal Palace. We’ll have to travel further—_

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an arrow whizzing mere inches in front of his nose. It struck deep into the tree to his left, sticking out so that the distinctive red fletching could almost brush his cheek as he rode by. He immediately reigned his horse to a stop and scanned the woods where the arrow originated from.

Before he could even draw his sword, he found that they were surrounded. Two archers flanked them from the left, a mountain of a man with a quarterstaff and a blonde woman wielding a sword blocked the way they’d come, and the felled tree blocked the road in front of them. Then a figure in a billowing crimson cloak immerged from the trees to their right. The hood of his cloak was pulled down low, obscuring his face.

 _Perfect place for an ambush._ He thought bitterly.

“Greetings travelers,” the Red Hood called out in a playfully, confident voice. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am the humble Toll Master of this road and the time had come for you fine gentlemen to pay your dues.”

If he had been embarrassed when the Queen had put him on the spot in the Great Hall a few days ago, it was nothing compared to the humiliation he felt at that moment. He had been sent out here to capture the Red Hood and now, not only would he return a failure, he would also have the double shame of having fallen prey to the very same bandit as well. There was no fear that the Red Hood would actually kill him. For one thing, he could have easily done it already, if that were his plan. Besides that, nothing in the Red Hood’s reputation suggested he was a killer. If anything, the Red Hood seemed to go out of his way to avoid killing anyone. All he was ever guilty of was robbing a few nobles and giving the money to the poor.

At that thought, an idea formed in his mind. Taking a chance he addressed the legendary bandit.

“I know you Red Hood,” Derek stated boldly. “You are the notorious thief, who steals from the rich and gives to the poor. As you yourself can see, we are not rich. We wear no fine clothing or glittering jewels. We are humble travelers on our way to the next town. We have but a few coins all together and will need every copper piece we have to make it through winter.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see one of the other archers lower his bow slightly. If he could just keep up this charade—and if the three men with him would keep their mouths shut—they might just have a chance of getting out of here. So far, the three men were at least smart enough to know when to stay silent.

“It’s true, you don’t wear the clothing of a nobleman,” the Red Hood.

Derek’s heart soared and, for just a brief moment, he actually believed that his ruse might work.

“But, those are very beautiful mounts you’re riding,” the Red Hood observed casually. “They are certainly not cart horses or old nags. No, they look like good war horses, the kind that only nobles could afford to keep and ride.”

Derek silently cursed his own stupidity. He’d spent so much time trying to dress like a commoner, he had entirely forgotten that the average person wouldn’t own as magnificent a horse as the one he was currently astride.

“And the swords you carry are quite fine as well,” the Red Hood continued nonchalantly. “Most peasants can barely afford a good knife these days, and yet all four of you carry castle-forged swords at your hips.”

Instantly, the Red Hood’s band was on full alert again, ready for even the slightest sign of trickery. The three guards shifted uneasily and fingered the hilts of their swords nervously. The Red Hood may not have a violent reputation but, in situations like these, accidents could happen. He gave a silent prayer to any deity that would listen that the three fools with him didn’t do anything that would get him killed.

“No, I don’t think you are what you claim to be,” the Red Hood accused, a note of aggression or maybe condescension entering his voice. “I think you are a moderately clever nobleman, who is trying to get out of paying his share by pretending to be something he’s not. While I applaud your shrewdness, I must insist that you and your men dismount at once.”

“What are you going to do to us,” one of the guards asked cautiously.

“Why, I’m going to invite you to dinner,” the Red Hood answered jovially. “A crafty ruse such as this deserves a reward. What do you say to a midday meal of roast venison? The finest in all the Kingdom.”

“Do we have a choice?” Derek scowled, his eyes flashing as red as the bandit’s cloak.

“No,” the Red Hood smiled.

Shame burned in his gut at failing so miserably. Guessing from the Red Hood’s jesting personality, he would probably take their horses and force them to walk back to the Palace as well.

Swinging down from his horse, he felt something whizz past his head for the second time that day. He looked up to see a crossbow bolt buried into the chest of the guard who had been ahead of him on the road. The man looked down at the bolt protruding from his chest in shock, before collapsing off of his horse.

Derek’s first thought was that it was treachery on the part of the Red Hood, but then he looked back at the way they’d come to see six heavily armored soldiers on horseback charging towards them.

“It’s a trap,” the Red Hood shouted.

Like spirits disappearing into the night, the Red Hood’s band turned and scattered, vanishing into the trees. Even the Red Hood, in his flashy red cloak, seemed to melt into the autumn foliage.

Relief filled him for a moment, thinking that the Queen—or more likely the Sheriff—had sent backup and they had only hit the guard on accident. The relief quickly vanished, when the soldiers opened fire again. A rain of crossbow bolts fell upon them. Derek’s Alpha reflexes were the only thing that saved him, but even he was fast enough to avoid all of them. He was hit just below the elbow of his left arm. The bolt managed to hit just below where his brigandine’s sleeve covered his arm. The remaining two guards fell to the ground, crossbow bolts sticking out of them like human pin cushions.

The horses, spooked by all the shooting, reared and kicked to try and get away. Derek caught a hoof to the chest and was knocked back hard against a tree. Dazed, he tried to stand only to be knocked back again, this time by steel-plated fist. Off balance and not even able to draw his sword, the only thing he could do was watch as one of the armored soldiers raised their sword to strike.

 _So this is how I die._ He though morbidly. _Laura was right._

He closed his eyes and waited for the fatal blow—

Only it never came. Instead he heard the whistle of an arrow and the sound of steel striking steel. He opened his eyes to see his would-be executioner’s sword had been knocked from his hands and a familiar red fletched arrow laying nearby. Behind him, the other soldiers were raising their shields against a volley of arrows.

Then, from out of nowhere, a red blur rushed up behind the soldier, kicking him in the back of the knee. Clumsy in full plate armor, the soldier fell like a ton of bricks. In the next instant, the infamous Red Hood was kneeling beside him.

“Can you walk,” the Red Hood asked harshly.

“Yes,” Derek answered.

“Then let’s move,” the Red Hood said, pulling him to his feet by his uninjured arm and dragging him into the forest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it. Sorry I'm going to have to leave you on a cliffhanger for a little while but I'm going to finish up my Love is Oblivious series. I only have five more chapters for that one and then I'll be right back to working on this one as well as my other story Coffee & Politics.
> 
> Comments and Critiques are always welcome and encouraged. Or you can follow me on tumblr at LuminescentLily.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally managed to get this chapter posted! Sorry for the long wait. If you read some of my other stories, especially Coffee & Politics, you'll know that I was recently in a car accident because of some idiot who was texting and fractured my wrist and broke two fingers, so that's why it took me so long. As a public service warning, I think it's my duty to tell you not to text and drive because the person you crash into might be your favorite fanfiction author.

 

 

***The Forest Just Off the King’s Road***

Derek’s mind raced, as they tore through the woods. His left arm throbbed in pain but he was more concerned with the men following them.

One thought in particular kept repeating itself again and again in his head.

_The Queen is trying to kill me._

He had always known that Queen Victoria disliked him, but to order his murder… The fact that it was the Red Hood who had saved his life was also mind-boggling. Of everything that had happened today, that was the most surreal.

“Hurry up,” the Red Hood barked. “We’ll never lose them, if you keep moving at a snail’s pace.”

He pushed his body to go faster but he was still trailing behind. Even with his Alpha agility, he was still having a hard time navigating through the forest. Slippery, fallen leaves and hidden roots plagued his every step and only the Red Hood’s grip on his uninjured arm prevented him from falling flat on his face. His breathing was labored as well. Taking a horse hoof to the chest wasn’t exactly conductive to arduous running. He probably had a few broken ribs, at least.

When the Red Hood momentarily paused to allow him time to recover, he focused his hearing to gauge how far their pursuers were from them. He was dismayed to discover that they were much closer than he’d hoped and closing in fast. There was no way they could outrun them. The Red Hood might still be able to get away, but not with Derek slowing him down.

“Go on,” Derek panted. “You can still make it. And this is as good a place as any to make a last stand.”

It wasn’t exactly how he’d planned to die, but he was determined to go down fighting. He was a Hale and, if nothing else, he would die honorably.

“What do you think this is?” the Red Hood remarked scornfully. “Some Bard’s tale? You think you’ll die a glorious death and people will sing your praises and make pilgrimages to your tomb. Well, I have news for you. They won’t. You’ll die—painfully—and then the Queen will bury you in some unmarked grave and tell everyone that you ran away, like a coward. Some honorable death that will be.”

“You know nothing of honor,” he snarled, pulling his arm away from the outlaw, but he knew the Red Hood was right. Still, there was no other way out of this mess. And, if he had to die, he rather die fighting than running away.

“I may not know about honor, but I know about deceit,” the Red Hood smirked. “And I always have a trick up my sleeve. Now c’mon, let’s move.”

Taking hold of his arm again, the Red Hood half dragged him off in another direction. In a few moments, they stopped again, this time in front of an old and gnarled tree. He was about to comment that he couldn’t possibly be expected to climb with his injured arm, but what he saw next silenced him. Gaping in astonishment, he watched as the Red Hood approached the tree and pushed aside a section of bark like a curtain. Drawing closer, he realized that it was, in fact, a curtain made of coarse dark wool and covered in moss and actual bits of tree bark. Behind the curtain was a tree hollow just large enough for the two of them to crouch down in.

“You can admire my genius later,” the Red Hood hissed, motioning for him to step inside. “You know, when we aren’t being hunted by the Queen’s Soldiers.”

Snapping out of it, Derek quickly crawled into the hollow and pressed himself as far back as he possibly could to make room for the Red Hood. It was a cramped fit but they both managed to squeeze inside, just in time. The Red Hood dropped the curtain back down, right as the Queen’s Soldiers drew near.

Derek sent up a silent prayer for there not to be any Alphas among the soldiers who could sniff them out. Their chances were good that there wouldn’t be. Because of their increased strength and agility, Alphas were prized in any army or guard force. They were usually promoted through the ranks quickly, whether they deserved it or not, and wouldn’t be wasted on such a disgraceful mission as this.

He held his breath for several heartbeats, as they listened intensely to the soldiers stomping around. The only thing he could see was the back of the outlaw’s bright red hood, but his ears were good enough to hear every footfall of the soldiers just beyond the curtain.

“Where did they go?” one of the soldiers barked. “They were right in front of us.”

“Check up in the trees,” another suggested. “They might’ve tried to hide in the branches.”

One of the soldiers approached their tree and his heart speed up in anticipation. All it would take for him to stumble upon their hiding place was a little luck. With his good arm, he gripped the hilt of his sword. They were at a severe disadvantage, crammed in such a tight space. He doubted he even had enough room to draw his sword. Thankfully, the soldier moved away to inspect another tree close by.

They both breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Then he breathed in and nearly gasped in surprise.

When the Red Hood had first appeared, he’d been standing down wind, so Derek had never gotten a good whiff of his sent. Then, he’d been too busy running for his life to stop and give him a sniff. But now he couldn’t help it, even if he tried. In this small, enclosed space, he was practically enveloped in the other man’s scent.

And what a scent it was. Soft and warm and vaguely familiar, it reminded him of his family’s castle before the fire, yet it was exhilarating, like a good gallop on his favorite stallion. But there was more than that. There was a subtle layer underneath that called to every instinct in his body.

_Omega_

Despite his best effort, he could feel himself hardening in his trousers. He couldn’t help it. The last time he’d been around an unmated Omega, he had been a child. There was a reason Omegas were sent off to convents, as soon as they presented, their scent alone was enough to drive an Alpha wild with the need to claim them. He dug his nails into his palm to try and focus. It would be easier if they weren’t confined in such a small place, but they were.

A small, sharp pressure just above his groin brought him back to his senses. He glanced down to see the Red Hood pressing the point of a dagger just above his cock.

“I know Alphas tend to think with the brain located below their belt, but we are in a life or death situation right now,” the Red Hood murmured softly, driving the blade a little deeper but not breaking through his clothes or skin. “Control yourself or I’ll turn you into a eunuch.”

That thought cooled his desire enough for him to think again.

_The Red Hood can’t possibly be an Omega!_ He thought. _This must be a decoy or something._

“They’re not here,” the first soldier grunted.

“I told you that Red Hood is in league with the Devil,” another one said a little fearfully. “How else could they have disappeared out of thin air?”

“What does it matter?” the second soldier asked. “Hale’s a dead man no matter what.”

“She wanted proof,” the first replied. “She won’t be happy, if we come back empty handed.”

“Better to face her wrath than the demons in this forest,” the fearful one added.

The soldiers poked around for a few more minutes but eventually headed back to the King’s Road. Derek alerted the Red Hood when the soldiers were out of hearing range and they emerged from their hiding place. A sudden rush of cold air outside helped clear his head even more. He was about to question the Omega about the _real_ Red Hood, when he heard others approaching.

Thinking that the soldiers were returning, he tensed and drew his sword, even though it made his chest ache and his injured arm scream in pain, only to find himself surrounded by the Red Hood’s band of outlaws. Not sure whether he was still in danger or not, he stayed in a defense stance.

“Looks like we finally found someone the Queen wants dead more than us,” the blonde swordswoman threw him a predatory grin.

“Looks that way,” the Omega said.

“Should we offer him to let him join us?” an archer with floppy hair and a crooked jaw asked hesitantly.

“A Noble!” the large quarterstaff wielding one raised an eyebrow. “No way.”

“I don’t know,” the swordswoman said. “Could have its advantages.”

“I’m no thief,” Derek announced, pain and annoyed that they were talking about him like he wasn’t even there, added force to his words. “And I would speak with the real Red Hood.”

“The _real_ Red Hood?” the Omega asked sharply. “And just who do you think I am.”

“You expect me to believe that the infamous Red Hood is an _Omega_ ,” he growled.

“I _am_ the Red Hood!” the Omega snarled. “Or do you need me to shoot that sword out of your hand to prove it.”

He snorted but then froze. The Omega heartbeat was steady; he wasn’t lying. And there was no doubt that the amazing shot that had corned him and his men, as well as the one that saved his life, were fired by the Omega. None of the Red Hood’s men seem to think he was joking either.

_But how could an **Omega**_ _lead the most infamous band of outlaws in the entire country?_

This information completely threw him for a loop. What’s more, his injuries were starting to really affect him. His sword arm was getting heavy and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold it. On top of that, his vision was starting to blur around the edges.

“It seems that we have a bit of a problem,” the Omega/Red Hood stated. “You’ve seen the faces of all my companions clearly and you know my scent. I can’t let that knowledge get back to the Queen. But I don’t like killing. Now, clearly the Queen doesn’t value your life very much, so what do you say to working together?”

Even though he was an Omega, he had a calm, authoritative voice. It was familiar. There was also something about that commanding stance and the tilt of his head that rang a little bell in the back of his mind. It made him think of just that morning, when he’d been talking with Sheriff Stilinski. Realization dawned on him like bolt of lightning.

“You’re the Sheriff’s son,” he choked out in surprise. “You’re Ge—”

Faster than Derek could even process, the Red Hood raised his bow and aimed an arrow straight at him. “Utter another syllable and I’ll put an arrow through your throat.”

Faced with a threat, even from an Omega, his body went into attack mode. He crouched down, ready to spring into an attack, when one of his legs gave out. Only just managing to brace himself, he fell to the ground. His entire body ached and he felt an overwhelming need to vomit. Looking down at his injured arm, he saw the cause. He didn’t remember taking out the crossbow bolt, or maybe a stray branch ripped it out, as they were running from the soldiers. Either way, just below the elbow of his left arm was a gaping wound, surrounded by a mass of dark veins, and oozing black blood.

_Poison_

“Poison,” the Omega/Red Hood echoed his own thoughts. “That’s what the soldier meant, when he said you were dead no matter what.”

“Damn,” the swordswoman swore. “She really wanted you dead.”

Those were the last words he heard, before his world faded to black.

 

 

***

 

“We have to get him back to camp!” Stiles ordered as soon as Derek passed out.

“You think that’s a good idea?” Scott asked. “I mean, it’s poison, he’s pretty much dead already.”

“Not if you mom can heal him,” Stiles retorted, throwing back his hood. He pulled out one of the laces of his boot and tied it around Derek’s upper arm to try and slow the spread of the poison. “Boyd, help me carry him. Isaac, you’re the fastest, run ahead and warn Melissa we’re coming. Scott, you and Erica can cover our tracks. Make sure you get rid of anything that could lead anyone back to us.”

None of them moved. They all just stared at him, like he’d grown a second head.

“What are you waiting for?” he shouted. “Let’s move!”

That seemed to do the trick, as they all sprang into action. Isaac took off, like a startled deer, into the forest, while Boyd moved to help him pick up Derek. Erica and Scott turned back towards the King’s Road to erase any footprints or other signs that they’d been there.

“Careful with his left arm, that’s where he was hit,” Stiles chided Boyd.

“I can see that,” Boyd said tersely. “You know this would go a lot faster, if I carried him by myself. The two of us trying to hold him just raises our odds of dropping him.”

“I—” he started, then sighed. “You’re right.”

Boyd hefted Derek into his arms, like he weighed nothing, and Stiles led the way. They were pretty far from camp and he didn’t know if Derek would even make it, but they had to try.

_Of all the people this could have happened to, it had to Derek of Hale._

He’d recognized that stupidly attractive face the moment he spotted him. It’s hard to forget the person he’d spent his entire childhood idolizing. It had been a mistake ambushing him. He should have just let Derek and his guards ride through, but he just couldn’t resist talking to him again. Before he’d presented as an Omega, Stiles used to dream of being an Alpha, or even a Beta, and following in his father’s footsteps to be the next Sheriff and maybe winning the affections of a certain broody, noble Lord.

_Well, none of that is going to happen now, so get over it._ He thought to himself.

Instead, he focused of finding the quickest route back home. It took them a few hours to make it back to camp, during which time Stiles was constantly afraid that Derek would die along the way. But Alphas were strong and hard to kill.

Even though they called it a camp, it was really more of a small village in a large clearing at the heart of the forest. Presiding over the clearing, at the very center, was the largest oak tree in the entire forest, maybe even the entire world. Back before the Council of Druid and even before the time of Kings, when the kingdom was a bunch of warring tribes, this oak tree had been the most sacred of sacred places. A Nemeton, where Druids from all over would come to gain power and knowledge. Of course, that was a long time ago. Most of its power had waned, but it still possessed enough to lend them a kind of mystical protection from being found.

Tents and lean-tos covered nearly every square inch of the clearing, even spreading into the forest with hammocks and platforms nailed between branches. It wasn’t just bandits and highwaymen who resided there either. In fact, it was mostly families who had been driven out of their homes because they couldn’t pay the outrageous taxes that Queen Victoria demanded. There was no money in this little community. Everyone pitched in together and shared what they had. There mostly ate wild berries, deer that Stiles and his band hunted, and what grain they could buy with the money they took back from the tax collectors. They didn’t have room for large scale farming, but Melissa was able to keep a decent sized herb and vegetable garden next to her hut.

As they carried Derek through the camp, several people stopped to see what was going on and ask questions but they just pressed. Melissa’s hut was the only truly solid structure in the camp. A simple wicker structure with a thatched roof, it served as a place where they could treat the sick and injured. Inside, drying herbs hung from the ceiling and the walls were lined with shelves, holding clay jars of various salves and unguents. Isaac was already there and he and Melissa had cleared off a sturdy wooden table for them to place Derek on and lit extra candles. Derek didn’t stir as Boyd put him down, but he was still breathing.

“What happened to him,” Melissa inquired, tying her hair back with a leather cord. “Isaac mentioned poison.”

“He was ambushed by the Queen’s Soldiers and shot with a crossbow bolt,” Stiles explained. “We didn’t realize it was poisoned, until he collapsed.”

“Did you remove the bolt,” she asked, examining the wound.

“No,” Stiles answered. “Things were a little crazy for a while there. It might have fallen out.”

“More likely it broke off and the arrowhead is still in there,” she theorized. “I’m going to have to dig it out, before I can treat the poison.”

Stiles paled at the very thought but he was determined to stay, until Derek was all right.

“What do you need from us,” Stiles asked.

“I’ll need you three to hold him down,” she instructed. “He’s an Alpha, yes? That’s what I thought. It’ll take all three of you to hold him, while I try and remove the arrowhead.”

They all moved around the table. Boyd positioned himself to hold down Derek’s shoulders, Isaac his legs, and Stiles would hold down his other arm.

“Stiles, hand me the tweezers over there,” she instructed, as she quickly washed her hands in a bowl of clean water.

Turning around, he located a pair of tweezers carved from animal bone, next to some half copped roots Melissa must have been working on when Isaac gave her the news. She handed her the tweezers and then they all braced themselves to hold down Derek.

“Okay, here we go,” Melissa warned them.

She started inserting the tweezers to try and locate the arrowhead. Derek groaned in pain but didn’t move. It wasn’t until Melissa found it and was trying to pull it out that Derek really fought back. His roar reverberated through the clearing, scaring several of the children in the camp. Hell, Stiles was scared too. His Omega instincts were to screaming for him to back away and cower in the corner, but he held strong.

“Almost there,” Melissa encouraged them. “Got it!”

She dropped the bloody arrowhead on a wooden plate and backed away from Derek. He calmed down, now that the pain wasn’t as agonizing and he was awake.

“Where am I?” Derek slurred, eyes darting around his surroundings.

“You’re safe,” Stiles answered.

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” Melissa spoke up. “So to speak.”

She picked up the arrowhead again and carefully examined it. She even brought it to her nose and took a sniff.

“Aconite,” she pronounced. “Also called monkshood and wolfsbane.”

“Of course, they’d use wolfsbane to kill a wolf,” Stiles scowled.

_I knew Queen Victoria was cold, but that’s just cruel._

“Let me up,” Derek demanded weakly.

“Not so sure that’s a good idea,” Isaac said, but Derek just flashed his red eyes and he and Boyd backed off. Stiles gave them a nod and they both left the hut. They would stay close by, if he needed them.

Even with the arrowhead removed, Derek’s arm did not look good. Black veins littered his arm like a demonic spider web. His skin was pale and covered in a sheen of cold sweat.

“You’ll have to cut it off,” Derek announced solemnly. “Before it spreads.”

“Um, are you talking about your entire arm?” Stiles asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Derek confirmed. “Cut off my arm and then cauterize it with a hot iron and some pitch. It’s the only way.”

“Um, no,” Stiles countered. “That’s the craziest way.”

“Why don’t you both let the healer tell you what should be done,” Melissa interrupted. “And Stiles is right, there is a much better way.”

“Stiles?” Derek questioned.

“That’d be me,” Stiles gave a little wave.

He saw Derek open his mouth to start speaking again but Melissa cut him off. “I can treat the poison and save your arm, put you’re going to have to lie back down.”

“Why should I trust you?” Derek growled. “You’re no physician.”

Stiles was about to protest but again Melissa cut him off. “You’re right, I’m not. Physicians—especially court physicians—are weedily little men who make outrageous sums of money proscribing all sorts of nasty tonics and bleedings to obnoxious little lords, who cry plague whenever someone so much as sneezes. I on the other hand have trained since I was a little girl in herb lore and the arts of healing and I have treated more injured and dying men and women on the battlefield than you can even imagine. Now, are you going to let me treat you or are you going to throw a little temper tantrum because, if it’s the latter, I have other things I could be doing.”

For a minute it looked like Derek was going to argue some more, instead he gave in.

“Fine,” Derek huffed.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles reassured. “Melissa is the best healer in the Kingdom.

Nodding, Melissa went over to one of the shelves and pulled down a clay jar that was kept separate from all the others. She took the top off and Derek’s eyes flared again.

“If you’re trying to heal me, why are you getting more poison,” Derek spat and attempted to rise from the table but he was still too weak.

“Medicine is all about proportions and application,” Melissa explained. “Too much of a good thing can be a bad thing and just enough of a bad thing can sometimes be a good thing. I assume you’ve heard the expression ‘hair of the dog that bit you’. And, no, that was not a slur against your family.”

Realizing that Derek wasn’t entirely convinced, Stiles cut in. “Melissa used this method a bunch of times before and all her patients lived.”

“It’s true, I used it quite a few times, when King Gerard went mad and split the country,” Melissa frowned at some long past memory. “Dipping his arrows in aconite was a common method he and his soldiers employed in those days.”

That seemed to sway Derek and some of the tension eased from his posture. Taking this as a sign she could continue, Melissa brought the jar of aconite closer and picked up a candle in her other hand.

“I’m going to treat it so that it will heal and not hurt you,” Melissa stated calmly. “It’s going to hurt even more than when I pulled the arrowhead out, but it will help.”

“I’m not afraid of pain,” Derek stated proudly.

Stiles snorted. “No, because glorious battle and getting hacked to bits is an Alpha’s favorite pastime.”

Melissa sent him a sharp glance but continued with her preparations. Taking a small portion of dried bluish-purple petals, she set them in a pile on the table, and promptly set it alight, with the candle. The petals flared up in a brilliant flash of light, then died down quickly. Without missing a beat, Melissa scooped up the burnt petal powder and pressed it directly into Derek’s wound. The howl of pain he let out made his last one seem like a puppy’s bark. He thrashed and writhed and Stiles wanted to go to him, but Melissa held him back.

After a few moments, Derek settled down. Stiles went up to check, only to find that Derek was unconscious again. He would have tried to wake him but Melissa urged him to let Derek rest. They went outside together, just in time to greet Scott and Erica, who had just returned.

“So, what are we gonna do with him,” Scott asked, once they told everyone that Derek would be fine.

“I don’t know Scott,” Stiles sighed miserably. “I really don’t know.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. It was getting a little long, so I had to split it into two chapters, that's why it stops a little abruptly.  
> I'm going to be going back and forth between this story and my Sterek coffee shop au 'Coffee & Politics' so my updates won't be as fast as most of you would like, but I will keep on working tirelessly at them both.  
> I always love to hear from my readers, whether it's compliments or critiques.  
> Or you could always follow me at LuminescentLily.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Sorry it took me so long, but life has a way of messing up all my planned deadlines.

 

 

***The Red Hood’s Camp at the Heart of the Forest***

When Derek awoke the next morning, it took him a few minutes to remember where exactly he was. All he knew was that he was wrapped in a soft blanket and the room smelled pleasantly of herbs and tallow candles. For a few moments, he almost believed that he was back at his family’s castle, just waiting for his little sister to come bursting in to wake him up and beg him to go riding with her.

Then he tried to sit up and a shooting pain rushed through his left arm and chest. All at once, memories of the previous day came rushing back. Looking around, he observed that he was on a small cot, swaddled in blankets. Someone had removed his shirt, brigandine, and boots, but a quick glance to the side revealed that they were neatly folded, with his sword resting neatly on top. He struggled to stand, but a firm hand pushed his shoulder back down on the bed.

“Easy there,” the healer from yesterday—Melissa—cautioned in a gentle voice. “Don’t try and move too quickly or you’ll end up hurting yourself again.”

“Where…” Derek managed to croak out, his mind still a bit foggy from sleep.

“You’re in my hut, in the Red Hood’s camp,” Melissa answered. “Yesterday you were kicked in the chest by a horse and shot with a poisoned arrow.”

“I remember,” Derek grimaced. “Where is the Red Hood?”

“Stiles is around the camp somewhere,” Melissa shrugged. “He’ll no doubt come to speak with you later today.”

“I’ll speak with him now!” Derek barked, once again trying to rise from the cot, even though it pained him.

“Whoa there,” Melissa protested, pushing him back on the cot again. “You’re in no condition to be getting up yet, even with your Alpha healing.”

“I’ll be fine,” Derek gritted out, as he struggled against her hold.

“No you won’t,” Melissa countered forcefully. “And, if you keep trying to push yourself like this, it will take twice as long for you to fully heal.”

Derek glared at her, a move that normally had most of the Palace residence scurrying in terror, but it didn’t seem to affect the healer in the slightest.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she continued. “I’m going to make you a cup of herbal tea to help flush the rest of the poison from your body. You will drink all of it and then go back to sleep for a while longer. When you wake again, I’ll have some food ready for you and I’ll see about bringing Stiles here, so that the two of you can talk. Sound fair?”

Not liking that scenario in the slightest, he continued glaring at her.

“It’s either that, or I have Boyd and Erica come in here to hold you down, while I pour the tea down your throat, and then have them sit on you, until you pass out,” Melissa explained with absolute seriousness. “The choice is up to you.”

Derek growled and flashed his eyes, but the healer didn’t even blink. Though he hated to admit it, he had no choice but to cooperate. He wasn’t strong enough to take on three Betas, hell, an Omega could probably beat him in his current condition. But he hated being at the mercy of others.

He nodded grudgingly in acceptance. Satisfied with that, Melissa strode out of the hut, only to return a few moments later with a kettle of hot water. With quick, efficient movements, the healer brewed the tea and then handed it to him in a simple clay mug. He sniffed it suspiciously but could identify only a few of the ingredients. Not that he knew what poison smelled like.

 _If they wanted to kill me, they could have just left me in the woods._ He rationalized to himself.

It was only when he was taking the first sip that he realized just how thirsty he was. He drank the rest in just a few gulps, only to have Melissa pluck the cup from his hand, to prepare another. Drinking the second one more slowly, he began to feel drowsy. By the time he finished it, he was more than ready to go back to sleep.

 

*

 

The second time he awoke was much less confrontational. This time, he remembered where he was right away and was more careful, when he tried to sit up. To his surprise, his pain was greatly reduced. His chest was still sore and there was a twinge of pain, whenever he moved his left arm, but nowhere near how bad it was before.

“Finally awake, I see,” Melissa spoke from her worktable on the other side of the hut.

“How long?” he asked, his voice raspy from sleep.

“Not too long,” the healer replied. “It’s just past noon. My son should be here with some food in a few minutes. Let me take a look at your arm, while we wait. I need to change the bandages.”

Without waiting for a reply, Melissa took his left arm and began carefully unwinding the bandages. When his bare arm was revealed, Derek was shocked by what he saw.

“It’s nearly healed!” he exclaimed in wonder. “I have never heard of a wound healing this quickly before. What magic did you use?”

“It is no magic,” Melissa laughed heartily. “It is medicine.”

“Not any medicine I’ve ever heard of,” he replied.

“Yes,” Melissa said archly. “No doubt you are used to the ineptitude of the Queen’s Court Physicians. This medicine comes from the roots and herbs of the forest.”

While he shared her distaste for the Court Physicians, surely they couldn’t be completely wrong. Yes, all their cures include smelly, rancid tasting tonics and bleedings, but they worked—most of the time—otherwise people wouldn’t keep going to them. He said as much to the healer.

“The physicians at court all rely on their new science and they forget about the wisdom of the past,” Melissa explained. “No doubt the church’s influence also steers them away from healing herbs as well, too closely linked with Druid magic.”

Derek nodded in agreement. The Queen was a great believer in the Church and hated anything that smacked of druidry.

“If you had gone to them, they would have tried to bleed the poison from you,” she informed him scornfully.

“Wouldn’t bleeding drain the poison out?” Derek asked.

“Oh it would have,” Melissa agreed. “Along with all the rest of the blood in your body. Like the old saying goes, don’t throw out the baby along with the bathwater. The body is full of blood, like a cup is full of water. When a person is injured, the body looses blood, like water leaking from a crack in a cup. Doesn’t it make more sense to patch up the leak and refill it with water, diluting the poison, until it’s harmless, rather than pour out what little water is left?”

He had to admit that she had a point.

“Where did you learn that from,” Derek inquired more respectfully than he had spoken to her before.

“My teacher was an old Druid,” Melissa smiled kindly. “I didn’t have the spark for magic, so I couldn’t join the College of Druids, but I had a knack for herblore and stitching up wounds. Over the years I’ve been able to help quite a few with my skills.”

“Is your husband a healer as well?” Derek asked but regretted it, when he saw how Melissa stiffened and looked away.

A voice from the doorway answered. “No, he prefers killing.”

“Scott,” Melissa berated.

“Scott? The miller’s son,” Derek said in recognition.

If the Sheriff’s son really was the Red Hood, then it only made sense that the Miller’s son would be part of his band of thieves. The two of them had been like brothers, when they were younger. One was never seen without the other and usually, when you saw them, they were causing some kind of trouble.

“He’s not a miller anymore,” Scott shrugged. “He decided to join the King’s Crusade to find riches and glory. Even if he comes back alive, the mill is gone. Swallowed up by the Queen’s tax collectors, along with half the country.”

“I think that’s enough of this conversation,” Melissa stated with authority. “Derek must be starving. Is that his food?”

Derek hadn’t noticed the bowl in Scott’s hands. The poison must have affected him even more than he realized, if his sense were this dull. He was normally much more observant.

Scott handed him a large bowl of thick stew and a crust of dark bread. It was peasant food but, at the moment, it tasted better to him than any feast at the Royal Palace. As soon as it was placed in his hands, he began scarfing it down, nearly choking in his hast. The last full meal he’d had was with his sisters the day before yesterday and he was ravenous.

“Slow down,” Melissa chided. “It’s not going to run away from you, if you don’t eat it all in one bite. And there’s plenty more, if you’re still hungry.”

He did slow down, but only slightly. When he was finished, his stomach was full to bursting and he was tempted to fall back asleep. But, if he wanted to get back to the Palace, face the Queen, and see his sisters again, then he needed to speak with the Red Hood.

Scott had made his exit, while he was eating, so he turned to Melissa. “I’ve complied with everything you asked of me this morning. Now, if the Red Hood truly is in charge here, then I have things to discuss with him.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow at his tone, but answered, “He’s probably doing something or other around the camp. I’ll ask someone to go fetch him.”

“No,” Derek shook his head. “I’ll go find him myself.”

“You really should rest more—”

“I’ve slept all day,” Derek argued. “I need to get up and move.”

“Just try not to strain yourself too much,” Melissa cautioned. “Even with your Alpha healing, you’re going to have to take it easy on that arm, for a few days at least.”

Getting to his feet with only a minimal struggle with the blank, he managed to pull on his boots and shirt but hesitated when it came to his brigandine. Realizing that he wouldn’t be able to put it on without help, he decided to forgo wearing it altogether. He was supposedly safe in the Red Hood’s camp and he really didn’t want to resort to asking the healer for assistance, having already suffered enough indignity, though he did take his sword with him. He couldn’t just leave such a valuable family heirloom lying about in a camp full of thieves.

Once he was dressed, he headed towards the door of the cabin. The sight that greeted him took his breath away. The healer had said they were in the Red Hood’s camp and he’d heard the noises of other people outside the hut, so Derek had assumed he’d find a few tends with unwashed, ruff looking outlaws milling about. He certainly didn’t expect to find a small, bustling village full of people.

The only thing he’d been right about was the tents, though they weren’t made from the plan canvas material he’d been expecting. They were bright and colorful, full of character and homey touches. And the people weren’t just lazing around, like he had envisioned. They were all hard at work on various tasks; everything from sewing to carpentry to cooking and even a woman working a small forge.

And the children.

There were children everywhere. Some were helping the adults with tasks, no doubt learning their future trade. A few others looked like they were taking lessons from a man in a monk’s robe, who was waving his arms about wildly. But most of them were running around playing. There weren’t a lot of children at Court, less than a handful, and Derek had seen this many in one place, since he himself had been a child.

A small group of particularly rambunctious children, playing an energetic game of tag, spotted him and turned to stare in wonder. He half expected them to run up and hold out their hands for coins, like the beggar children outside the Palace, but they simply continued to stare. He started to become uncomfortable by their scrutiny, feeling like one of the exotic animals in the King’s menagerie. That was when a few of their mothers—he assumed the women were their mothers—ran up and shooed them away. A few even clutched the children tightly behind them, as if to shield them from his very presence.

 _Is it my sword? Do the women thing I would hurt the children in some way?_ He though in confusion.

“It’s because you’re a noble, and a Hale at that,” a cocky voice informed him.

Turning, he spotted the blonde swordswoman from yesterday approaching him. No long dressed in forest camouflage, she wore a simple pair of trousers and a shirt that revealed a daring about of cleavage. Her sword at her hip.

“I understand why they would fear nobles,” he conceded. “But why should they fear my family? We’ve never treated our people unfairly.”

“They really don’t tell you much at Court, do they,” the swordswoman snorted. “You mother might have been a fair ruler, but the man in charge there now doesn’t exactly follow her example.”

Derek growled. He knew very well who was running his family’s lands. Sir Adrian of Harris was a sniveling worm of a man, if you could even call him a man at all. He was also one of Kate’s cronies and she had convinced the King to assign him their lands. Once that had been decided the King would hear no argument against it.

Laura must have known all about it. It would explain the pained look she always had, whenever she read the reports from their holdings. And why she always evaded his and Cora’s questions about how their lands were doing.

“How bad is it there?” he asked through a tightly clenched jaw.

“It’s the worst in the entire kingdom,” she said glumly. “They’re taxed beyond even what the Queen asks for and any who can’t pay are stripped of everything and put in debtor’s prison, until their families can raise the money to pay the taxes. Or at least bribe the guards for a blanket and extra food.”

Forcing himself to remain calm, he clutched the hilt of his sword and exhaled slowly.

“Are you…helping them?” he asked hesitantly. “The Red Hood supposedly gives to the poor and needy. Does he help my people?”

“That’s where he concentrates most of his efforts,” she replied, gesturing all around them. “Half the people you see here are from your family’s lands, driven out by taxes or the threat of imprisonment.”

He nodded solemnly, not sure what else to say.

Luckily, she solved that indecision for him. “Follow me. Stiles told me to bring you to him.”

She led him through the camp, towards the largest oak tree Derek had ever seen in the middle of the clearing. As they passed by other people, he couldn’t help but notice how they all seemed to draw back from him. He didn’t like it. He wasn’t anything like the Queen or Lady Katherine or Sir Adrian. They shouldn’t have any reason to fear him.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on that thought, because the swordswoman soon brought him to the base of the massive oak tree. Sitting on one of the branches that was so old and heavy it nearly sagged completely to the ground, was the Red Hood. The Red Hood—or Stiles, as they kept referring to him—was polishing his bow, a quiver of arrows not far away. Derek was momentarily distracted by the Omega’s nimble fingers, as they pulled a rag over the curve of the bow.

“I see the sleeping beauty has finally awakened,” Stiles quipped, not bothering to look up from what he was doing. “Thanks for bring him to me, Erica. You can go, we’ll be fine on our own.”

“Have fun,” the swordswoman—Erica—smirked and strutted off, leaving the two of them completely alone.

Derek was a little unsure of how to act in his present situation. He’d never been alone with an unmated Omega—or even a mated one. Omegas always had their mate or a close relative around to chaperone them. He certainly never addressed one directly before.

“Red Hood,” he started awkwardly.

“ _Lord Hale_ ,” Stiles replied mockingly, raising his head to boldly meet gaze.

Scowling at the lack of respect in the Omega’s tone, Derek continued more tersely. “I require your swiftest horse and some provisions.”

“Well, we’re fresh out of horses,” Stiles taunted. “We do have a few goats, but you’ll want to be careful around them. They bite.”

“Then have someone show me the way out of this forest,” he demanded, temper rising.

“Why should I?” Stiles shrugged.

Utterly shocked by such a response, he had trouble finding words for a moment. “The Queen tried to have me killed!” he said forcefully. “I must return to the Palace and face her. Denounce her, before the entire Court.”

“And that benefits me, how?” Stiles questioned, setting his bow aside.

“Because failing to provide aid to a Lord of the Realm is a punishable offense,” he threatened.

“I’m already an outlaw, with a price on my head,” Stiles reminded him proudly. “What’s one more minor offense?”

Struggling to reign in his anger, he recognized that threatening him probably wouldn’t gain him his objective. So, he switched tactics.

“With what I know now, I can expose the Queen and help my sister regain control of our lands,” he promised. “We’ll put an end to all of these outrageous taxes.”

“That would solve everything…in a _fairy tale_ ,” Stiles jeered, crossing his arms. “Let me tell you what would really happen. You wouldn’t get within a mile of the Palace, before the Queen’s guards captured you, beat you to a bloody pulp, and threw you in a cell. Once you’re back under her control, she’d create some trumped up charges and try you for treason. Then you’d have your head chopped off and mounted on a spike on the Palace wall. The end.”

“That won’t happen,” he protested, but he knew there was more than a little truth in the Omega’s words. “I have allies—”

“Who?” Stiles cut him off. “Who at Court would risk their fortune, title, family, and life for you?”

Derek wanted to lie to him and list some important Duke or Baron but his mind went blank.

“And still you forget the very important fact that **you** **know who I am** ,” Stiles said, emphasizing the last part. “More importantly, you know who my father is. Did it ever occur to you to think what would happen to _him_ , if the Queen found out who I was? Or did you plan on using that information as a bargaining chip.”

So shocked by everything that had happened in the past day, he’d forgotten all about the Sheriff. If it were discovered that the Sheriff’s son was the infamous Red Hood, the Queen would have the Sheriff executed, whether he was complicit in his son’s crimes or not. Remembering his conversation with the Sheriff, just before he set out on his tap of a mission, a troubling thought entered his mind.

“Does your father—”

“He knows nothing,” Stiles stated with absolute conviction. “He believes that I’m currently at a convent on the other side of the country and he’s going to continue believing that, until his dying day.”

“On my honor, I swear that I won’t reveal your identity,” Derek promised “I won’t tell anyone you helped me. No one ever has to know.”

“The men who tried to kill you no doubt already reported to the Queen how I rescued you,” Stiles pointed out. “And your honor won’t matter for much, when the Queen is torturing the information out of you.”

“I’m not afraid of torture,” he stated, raising his chin in defiance.

“Idiot Alphas,” Stiles muttered under his breath and rolled his eyes, then continued in a normal voice. “And what if the Queen threatened to execute your sisters? What would your honor dictate then?”

“The Queen wouldn’t dare,” Derek said aghast. “She’d have no grounds to harm them.”

“She would name you a traitor to the crown and, as you family, they would be suspect as well,” Stiles shot back. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard to fabricate some evidence against all three of you.”

Balling his hands into fists, he fought the urge to strangle the mouthy little Omega. Only years of being taught to be gentle with Omegas, stopped him.

Switching tactics again, he decided he was going about this all wrong. He was speaking with Stiles like a Beta, when what he should have been doing is talking to him, like the Omega he was. And no Omega could resist an Alpha like him Putting on his most charming smile, he started again.

“What if you were to help me,” he said sweetly. “The entire kingdom talks about how skilled you are. I bet you could sneak me past all those guards without any problem at all.”

“Wow,” Stiles said and for a moment Derek thought he had him. “Your seduction technique is terrible. Seriously, has that ever worked for you?”

Embarrassed and humiliated, Derek’s temper finally snapped and he charged at the Omega, intending to beat him into submission. But the Omega easily sidestepped him, letting Derek crash into the tree branch he had been sitting on only a moment ago. Before he could recover, Stiles had the side of his bow pressing against Derek’s windpipe and a knee pressed into his back, chocking him.

“Get this through that thick Alpha skull of yours. The Queen. Wants. You. DEAD!” Stiles shouted. “Whether you like it or not, right now, this is the safest place for you and I’m offering you sanctuary. You should be grateful!”

“Grateful for keeping me prisoner?” Derek spat out.

“How about, grateful for saving your life!” Stiles snarled and pulled his bow harder into his throat, making it hard for him to breath. “Twice!”

The next moment, the bow was gone and he was gasping for breath.

“You know who I really am and I can’t risk you telling anyone,” Stiles stated, as Derek stood to face him. “But I am my father’s son, so I won’t kill you. That doesn’t mean I have to let you go either.”

“You can’t keep me here!” Derek growled. “I am Lord Derek of Hale. By what right can an _Omega_ , like you, dictate my actions?”

Stiles’s entire demeanor became colder and for a moment Derek thought he might have gone too far. But why should he care? Stiles was just an Omega, even if he was the Red Hood. Derek had just been caught off guard a moment ago but, if he really tried, he could easily defeat Stiles. He just wasn’t too keen on having to take on all the Betas, who followed Stiles for some unfathomable reason.

“You want to leave?” Stiles said icily. “Fine! Leave! No one will stop you. But good luck making your way through the woods on your own. You better hurry, too. The sun will be setting in a few hours, that’s when the wolves come out to hunt. Maybe they’ll recognize one of their own and help you find your way home.”

Picking up his quiver, Stiles turned and started walking into the forest.

“Where are you going?” Derek wheezed.

“Hunting,” Stiles answered curtly. “There are a lot of mouths to feed in this camp and it looks like we just added one more.”

As soon as he could stand again, Derek took off after him, tracking his sent. He didn’t get far, before the trail disappeared into a dead end. There were not tracks and his scent just stopped. Growling in frustration, Derek had no choice but to go back the way he’d come or end up lost in the forest.

Erica met him at the edge of the camp, with a knowing smirk. “He pulled his disappearing act on you, didn’t he? Don’t feel bad, he gets everyone with that, at least once.”

Grunting in reply, he followed her back to the healer’s hut. Since his injuries were mostly healed, there was no reason for him to stay there another night. Erica tracked down a spare tent and a few blanket for him to use. They set him up at one end of the clearing, a little ways away from everyone else. She also introduced him to a few people around the camp but most of them were still leery of socializing with him.

He didn’t see Stiles again for the rest of the night. In some ways it was a good thing, because he needed more time to figure out a way to convince the stubborn Omega—or anyone else who knew the forest—to help him get back to the Palace. He wasn’t stupid enough to try finding his way in the forest by himself but he wasn’t giving up either. His sisters were still back there and probably in danger. He would find a way back to them, even if it killed him.

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it.
> 
> And to anyone who was expecting me to update "Coffee & Politics" first, I apologize. Writer's block is killing me on that one, and I found the best way to get over that is to work on another story for a while. I hope to have the next chapter up soon.
> 
> As always, comments and critiques are always welcome!


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

***The Red Hood’s Camp, Up in the Branches of the Nemeton***

Stiles awoke to the sounds of the forest, just like he had for the last few years. His hammock swayed soothingly in the breeze, hung from one of the branches of the Nemeton. He was the only one in the camp who spent much time around the ancient tree, let alone slept anywhere it. The others might respect its history and its power keeping them safe, but they still held the old superstitions in their hearts.

Superstitions never bothered Stiles much, especially not on beautiful mornings like this. It was so peaceful that he could almost forget about the long list of problems he had to deal with. Particularly a certain noble Lord residing at the very top of said list.

Unable to fall back asleep, Stiles rolled out of his hammock with his typical lack of grace and scrambled to grab his bow that he always kept within arm’s reach. A little archery practice in the morning always helped him wake up and clear his head.

On the far side of the Nemeton, away from the tents, they had erected a basic archery range complete with wooden targets and straw dummies. It was one of the first things Stiles had insisted on, when they originally established the camp. They needed to keep their skills sharp, so a practice range was a necessity.

Walking towards where they stored the practice arrows, he rubbed his hands from the chill in the air. Winter was approaching fast this year. Soon, it would be too cold for him to sleep in the open and he would have to move to a tent. He made a mental note to check that there were enough furs and blankets for everyone later.

Gathering a handful of arrows, he found a good position to shoot from and stuck the arrows into the ground, while he stretched. Once he was all limbered up and more alert, he notched his first arrow and took aim. The arrow hit dead center of the nearest target. Already feeling better, he took aim again and again, until he’d fired all his arrows, each hitting their mark perfectly. He never fired at the same target twice, preferring to choose his target at random. It was better practice, because in battle your enemy didn’t follow set patterns.

Collecting all the arrows again, he continued practicing. While his hands were occupied with shooting, his mind was free to ponder his current dilemma. Namely, Lord Derek of Hale.

He could admit to himself that he handled yesterday’s conversation poorly. Normally he was so much better at controlling his temper and talking circles around others, but there was something about Derek that just rubbed him the wrong way. And the Alpha’s ridiculously clumsy attempt at seduction had made him so irrationally angry that he hadn’t been able to hold himself back from his default defense mechanism of sarcastic comments. That, of course, had only escalated the situation between them.

For some unfathomable reason, Stiles had thought that Derek would be different from all the other arrogant Alphas, who saw him as nothing more than a weakling Omega, only good for breeding and raising children.

 _Should have known better the moment he asked where the **real** Red Hood was._ He thought with a snort.

The Derek that Stiles remembered was gone. Now Derek was just like all the other pretentious nobles at Court, expecting everyone else to do as he ordered, just because he was a Lord and an Alpha at that.

Dealing with him would be a challenge for Stiles and, unfortunately, it looked like he would be dealing with him for a while. Letting him go was completely out of the question. Derek knew too much. The Alpha knew Stiles’s identity, his scent, and most importantly who his father was. If Derek ever got back to Court, his father would be arrested and probably executed with little or no trial.

Stiles would die, before he allowed that to happen.

Killing Derek wasn’t an option either. He might be a lot of things, but a murderer wasn’t one of them. That and the fact that Derek hadn’t actually done anything to deserve a death sentence. His worst crime was being naïve enough to think that he was the hero in some epic tale, where he rode back to the Palace on a white horse and defeated the evil Queen.

If winter hadn’t been so close, he might have been able to smuggle the Alpha out of the country, assuming Derek would go. But winter _was_ too close. The mountain passes would already be blocked with snow and storms were battering the harbors, preventing any ships from leaving port. So, for the next few months, he was stuck with the Alpha in his camp.

 _Or until the King returned._ Stiles thought halfheartedly.

Most of the common people believed that all the kingdom’s troubles would be magically solved the instant King Christopher returned from the Crusades. Stiles wasn’t so confident of that. Even if the King returned tomorrow, the kingdom would still be bankrupt and facing one of the worst winters in decades. Not to mention the fact that there would surely be a large number of soldiers returning to find that their homes had been seized by the Crown. With nowhere to go, they would inevitably turn their fighting skill, honed by years of war, to theft and other unsavory means of survival. The already high crime rates would soar to new heights. It would be chaos.

 _And that’s assuming the King retunes home alive._ He though bitterly.

So, until something happened, there was nothing he could do but put up with Derek.

Stiles hated not being able to do anything to deal with a situation.

Shaking his head, he tried to banish the negative thoughts. He needed to focus on the things he could do. And, right now, that meant keeping as many people alive through the winter as possible. That meant getting food and supplies to the people of the Kingdom, especially those in the Hale lands. The tax money he’d liberated from Lord Whittemore would do great deal to help with that.

But they couldn’t buy everything at once, even if they had more than enough to pay for it. Any large purchases made on behalf of anyone but a noble lord would draw unwanted attention. The Queen and her agents knew that the Red Hood helped the people with physical supplies, rather than money that could be taxed from them again, so they had to be careful. Instead of large purchases, they broke it up into multiple smaller ones and bought things from several different villages and towns, to throw off suspicion.

His own camp was nearly self sufficient, but there were still a few things they could use. He was too conspicuous to go out and get them himself—an unmated Omega walking around a marketplace instead of properly locked away in a convent would be a scandal—so he’d have to send a few of the others. That didn’t mean he had to sit idle. The bounty of the forest was more than just the game he could hunt and, with the first snows on their way, today could be his last chance to forage for whatever vegetation was left.

Feeling immensely better, now that he had a plan, he shot the last of his arrows. When he was done, he stored the arrows and went to find his friends, with a quick stop at Friar Finstock’s lean-to on the way. Predictably, they were gathered around one of the cook fires, eating a nice breakfast of hot porridge.

“Well, our fearless leader finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Isaac announced, as Stiles approached them.

“I was practicing,” Stiles countered. “Have to keep up my skills to maintain my reputation. Heaven knows you sorry lot would be lost without me.”

Almost in unison, they all rolled their eyes. Even Scott gave him a look, as he handed his friend a bowl of porridge.

Looking around, he asked. “Is Lord Hale awake yet?”

“Still asleep,” Boyd answered. “Melissa gave him some of her sleeping tea, so he probably won’t wake until the afternoon.”

“Good,” Stiles said with release. That meant a few more hours of not having to deal with him.

“Someone’s still in a mood this morning,” Erica taunted. “You’re little lovers tiff with the Lordling still have you upset?”

“Pff, no,” Stiles denied feebly. “I happen to be in a great mood this morning. Fantastic even.”

“Oh,” Erica arched a brow suggestively. “Why is that? Did you pay our resident Lordling a visit during the night? Is that the true reason he’s still sleeping?”

“What!” Stiles choked on his porridge and his cheeks felt like they were on fire from how much blood was rushing to them. “I—no, just—absolutely not—”

His babbling continued for few moments, before everyone else broke out in laughter.

“You guys are the worst,” he pouted.

“Well, someone has to keep you ego in check,” Boyd chimed in.

Pointing at Boyd and Erica, Stiles announced, “Just for that, you two don’t get to go to the marketplace today.”

Everyone perked up at that. They might be outlaws, but even they enjoyed a trip the town marketplaces, where they could look through all the merchant wears and maybe pick up a little nick-knack for themselves. Plus, it gave each of them a deliciously, self-righteous thrill to be buying goods for the people using stolen tax money.

Taking a pouch of money from his boot, he tossed it to Scott. “The Friar divided up a portion of our last score into the smallest coins he could, but you’ll have use a few of the larger ones. Discreetly.”

“Of course,” Scott replied. “Isaac knows a few merchants that would look the other way to someone having more coin than they should, as long as we buy a few extra items from them.”

“Good, the two of you can buy the supplies,” Stiles nodded. “And don’t forget the Friar’s wine.”

No one doubted that Friar Finstock was a few arrows short of a full quiver, but the man knew money and numbers. It was for that reason (and the fact that he could just break into any lockbox they stored the money in anyways) that Stiles had put him in charge of all their stolen loot. All the Friar asked for in return was a few bottles of wine or other spirit to quench his unending thirst.

“Anything in particular you want us to buy?” Isaac inquired.

“Grain,” Stiles answered. “Farmers should be bringing in the last of their harvests, so grain prices will only go up, as winter sets in.”

“What about us?” Erica sulked.

“The next supply run is all yours,” Stiles promised. “Till then, I’m sure there’s plenty that needs to be done around here to keep you occupied.”

“And what will you be doing,” Erica challenged. “Going hunting again, to impress Lord Derek? You know it’s supposed be the Alpha that provides food for the Omega, not the other way around.”

“I planned on foraging whatever’s left out in the forest,” Stiles shot back, ignoring her last comment. “You’re welcome to join me.”

“I’ll pass,” Erica grumbled.

Erica was no stranger to hard work, but she preferred something more active, like combat, to more tedious forms labor, though she was surprising skilled at weaving baskets. He had no doubt that she and Boyd would find plenty to do around camp.

After they all finished eating, everyone went on their way. Scott and Isaac headed off towards the nearest town with a cart, while Boyd and Erica wandered off somewhere into the camp. Before setting off himself, Stiles took a quick stop at the camp’s storage tents to see if there was anything in particular that they needed. They were well stocked on most everything but they could use a few more vegetables and maybe a few wild herbs that Melissa couldn’t grow in her garden.

Armed with the knowledge of what to be on the lookout for, Stiles grabbed a large bag and his red cloak, and then set off into the forest. He had always been excellent at foraging, because his mother had been employed in the Palace stillroom making herbal tinctures and salves, when Stiles was a child. She had taught him all about plants and the proper ways to collect them. After she died, he continued to learn by studying the illustrated herbals in the Palace library, though he often had to sneak in there, late at night, with only a single candle and Scott to keep watch at the door.

That knowledge had certainly saved his life, when he had first run away from the Convent his father had sent him to. He had managed to live quite well on his own, before establishing his camp at the Nemeton and gathering the others. Though he definitely lived more comfortably now, with the others.

Stiles spent the first hour or so just walking around the forest, exploring routes he hadn’t traveled in quite a while. He was rewarded with some wild cabbages and a few herbs. The cabbages alone would have been worth his trip, but he kept wandering around. There weren’t any berries that he could find, but that was only to be expected. Anything like that would have already been eaten by animals, but he had some luck with more vegetables. He managed to scrounge up a whole bunch of wild carrots and even a couple of potatoes.

However, the real prize came, as he was making his way back to camp. Traveling through a section of the forest he hadn’t been in for almost a year, he came across a trio of apple trees heavy with ripe fruit. His bag was already full to bursting and he certainly didn’t want to dump any of it out. He knew he should just head back to the camp and get a few of the others with more bags and baskets, but Stiles had never been one to turn down a challenge, and these apple trees were practically daring him to leave all that gorgeous fruit just hanging there.

Taking his cloak off his shoulders, he spread it out on the ground and began loading it up with as many apples as he could, before tied the corners together. It was a little awkward walking with these two large bundles, but he managed. There were still plenty of apples on the trees, but he would send some of the others to come back and gather the rest.

Walking back, he still couldn’t believe his luck. There were more than enough apples here for everyone in the camp. What they didn’t eat right away, they could either dry and preserve for winter or, better yet, turn into cider that could be heated up and drunk on cold nights.

 _If nothing else, the apples might cheer Derek up._ Stiles thought. _He always loved apples._

As soon as the though popped into his head, he scowled. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about cheering up that stupid, thick-headed, macho, Alpha jerk. Pushing those thoughts aside, he focused on getting back without spilling anything.

His return was greeted with a lot of excitement, as fresh fruit was always a welcome treat. Once he divested himself of his haul, he quickly organized a group with baskets to follow him back to the tree and collect the rest of the apples. It took quite a few trips but, eventually, they managed to get it all.

By the time they were bringing back the last of the apples, Stiles was feeling pretty good. Unfortunately, hat good feeling didn’t last long. When he returned to the camp for the final time, he spotted Scott and Isaac hurrying towards him, Erica and Boyd right on their heels.

 _They shouldn’t be back yet._ He thought perplexedly. _They couldn’t have gotten even half of what they needed so quickly._

A sliver of fear ran up his spine, as Scott hailed him.

“What happened,” Stiles hissed, as Scott drew near. “Were you noticed? Did Isaac’s merchant double-cross you? Were you followed? Were—”

“Nothing like that,” Scott interrupted the deluge of questions. “We heard some news at the third town we stopped at and we wanted you to know about it, as soon as possible.”

“News? About what?” Stiles asked but didn’t pause to hear Scott’s answer, before firing more questions at him. “Is the Queen mobilizing her soldiers? Or is it my dad? Please, tell me it’s not my dad? I have to—”

“Stiles!” Scott shouted. “Stop guessing and let me tell you!”

“Right, sorry,” Stiles apologized sheepishly. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying that we heard news at one of the villages,” Scott informed him. “Apparently, Sir Adrian of Harris has cooked up a scheme to stop us from giving aid to those in his lands.”

“They aren’t _his lands_ , they’re the Hale Lands,” Stiles argued. “He’s just the steward of them.”

Sir Adrian of Harris was a major thorn in his side and always had been, ever since he was a child. He might even go as far as to call Harris his nemesis; one that Stiles took great pleasure in making to look the fool. Insufferably haughty and cruel, Harris was one of Lady Katherine’s cronies and her loyalist follower. He was a Beta but has all the arrogance and entitlement of an Alpha, with none of the skills. The only reason he had even risen high enough to be knighted was because of Lady Katherine’s favor, back when she was still heir apparent.

“He may just be the steward, but he has control of them,” Isaac countered.

“And how exactly does he plan to keep us out?” Stiles asked.

“He’s putting his—the Hale Lands under lockdown,” Scott elaborated. “No one is to travel in or out, until spring. Anyone who violates this will be executed. No exceptions. And he’s posted armed men in every town, village, and hamlet to insure his orders are carried out.”

“That mangy cur,” Erica swore, and Boyd nodded in agreement.

“We’re still going to help them, right?” Scott asked.

“Of course we are,” Stiles burst out. “I just have to figure out how.”

“I say we kill him,” Erica glowered. “He’s been nothing but a menace. The Kingdom would be better off without him.”

“We can’t,” Stiles lamented.

“Why not?” Erica asserted.

“Because we’re not murderers,” Scott protested.

“There’s always an exception,” Erica sniffed.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Stiles admitted.

“How?” Erica shot back. “We kill the bastard, they bring back one of the Hales to rule. Life gets better for the people and Harris never hurts anyone again. It’s a win/win.”

“That’s assuming they bring one of the Hales in to rule?” Boyd countered. “Laura Hale has been of age for years. She should be ruling the Hale Lands already, but the Queen will never allow it.”

“And, if we get rid of Harris, there’s no guarantee that the person who replaces him will be any better,” Stiles hypothesized. “In fact, it’s a pretty safe bet to assume that the replacement would be even worse. Harris is a nasty piece of work but there are others, in the Royal Court, who are a thousand times worse. At the very least, Harris is easy to fool and we don’t want him replaced with someone smarter.”

Erica frowned but didn’t argue with their logic.

“Then what do we do?” Isaac demanded to know.

Stiles took many risks acting as the Red Hood, but he was never foolish enough to just walk into a trap. He needed a plan. But to make a good plan, he needed more information first. They needed to do some reconnaissance. That was something he could do.

“Right,” Stiles decided. “Scott, you and Isaac are going to go back and finish buying supplies. The Hale Lands have it the worst, but they’re not the only ones who need our help. While you’re out there, see what else you can learn from talking with the merchants. But **don’t** draw too much attention to yourselves. Erica and I are going to scout out a few of the villages in the Hale lands that are close enough to the woods for us stay hidden. Boyd will stay behind to watch over the camp.”

He would have preferred to have Boyd with him for the scouting trip, because the larger man was surprisingly stealthy for his size and also, because he was the most observant person Stiles had ever known, often picking up on little things that Stiles missed. However, he needed someone at the camp who could keep everyone calm in the face of this troubling news and handle Lord Hale, if the Alpha found out and decided to throw a tantrum. Erica was too volatile for either task and might skewer the Alpha with his own sword, if he said something she disagreed with. From the knowing look in Boyd’s eyes, Stiles knew he understood the reasoning behind the decision.

It wasn’t much, but he knew they all felt better, now that they had something they could do. Almost before he was done speaking, they split off to follow his orders. With a quick trip to grab his bow, he met Erica at the edge of the camp. She was buckling her sword belt with grim determination.

“All right,” he announced, walking up beside her. “Let’s to find out what we’re dealing with.”

 

 

Follow me on tumblr [here!](http://luminescentlily.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. I’m so so sorry for taking such a horribly long time with my updates. I’ve just been in a funk recently and I haven’t felt the drive to do much of anything, not even reading—which, if you knew me, would worry you a little. But, I think I’ve finally snapped back from it (knock on wood).
> 
> I’ve also had few new ideas for the direction I want this story to go. And I already have an outline for the next two chapters, so they should be out soon.
> 
> Comments and critiques are like virtual hugs, so share the love :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I posted it so late. I would have had it finished by Monday but some piece of garbage slashed my tires last Saturday and the tires of twelve of my co-workers, so I've been a little stranded and unable to get to a computer. Hopefully it's worth the wait :)

 

 

***The Red Hood’s Camp, Inside Melissa’s Hut***

Derek ground his teeth together in irritation, as the healer poked and prodded him. It had been over a week since he’d received his injuries and a few days since they’d fully healed, thanks in no small part to said healer’s treatment. His body was now perfectly fine, but the Beta was surprisingly forceful in her insistence that she be allowed to check his recovery.

“Well, this looks to be healed up nicely,” Melissa hummed in approval. “I see you’ve been taking my advice about not doing anything too strenuous.”

“Not like I have much choice,” Derek grumbled.

“Yes, I imagine there’s not much for someone like you to do around here,” Melissa nodded.

“Or anything I’m allowed to do,” Derek countered, annoyed at the ‘someone like you’ part. As if he was some completely different species.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something to amuse yourself,” Melissa smiled.

He scowled but bit back the sharp response that was on the tip of his tongue. It wouldn’t do to offend one of the few people in the camp that would actually speak with him. Instead he pulled his shirt back on and left the healer’s hut.

After his first few days here, he recognized the reality that he was going to be stuck in the Red Hood’s camp for quite some time, until spring, at the very least. And, while he wasn’t happy about it, he could now appreciate the protection it gave him. The Queen wanted him dead, and the Red Hood’s camp was the only place in the entire country safe from her wrath. He had also come to realize that his desire to go rushing off to the Royal Palace and confront the Queen had been foolish as well. Resigned to his immediate fate, he was nevertheless frustrated with his enforced idleness.

Ever since he’d arrived at the Red Hood’s camp, he had done nothing but sit around all day or wander along the perimeter of the camp. No one in the camp wanted him around, so assisting with any kind of labor was out of the question and there wasn’t really anything else he could do with his time. Back at the Palace, he had at least been able to go to the training yard to practice his swordsmanship or go to the King’s library and read, when he had no other obligations.

Besides the golden-haired swordswoman—Emma, no Erica—in the Red Hood’s band, there didn’t seem to be any other sword fighters in the camp. Despite her being a mere Beta, fencing with her would have been something to do. Unfortunately, she—and the rest of the Red Hood’s band—seem to be constantly preoccupied with other urgent matters. And he seriously doubted there were any books, let alone interesting ones, anywhere in the camp.

 _I doubt anyone in this camp has the ability to read, let alone owns a book._ He thought sullenly.

To make matters worse, the entire camp seemed only be getting more agitated by his presence with every passing hour. Day by day, he saw their tension and anxiety increase. Wherever he went, conversations immediately died, though he often heard the word ‘Hale’ uttered in hushed whispers. They were afraid of him, that much was clear, but whether it was because of his noble title or because he was an Alpha, he didn’t know.

Not that it really matter. Either way, it was the same results. He was even more isolated and alone than he had been at the Palace.

_At least there I had my sisters._

Overwhelmed by boredom and loneliness, he found himself almost missing the insolent Omega. Stiles clearly wasn’t afraid of him or awed by his status and title—never had been. Not that he’d had a chance to speak with the Omega again, since that second day. Whatever else the Red Hood did besides steal from the rich, he kept him extremely busy for all the time that Derek had been here.

Logically, Derek knew that stealing from the rich was only half of what the Red Hood supposedly did. And he imagined that feeding the poor was no doubt more time consuming than quick ambushes on traveling nobles. Still it seemed like Stiles was going out of his way to avoid him.

Derek had always considered himself to be an early riser—and he certainly was, when judged against other nobles—but compared to the people in the Red Hood’s camp, he felt like he slept through half the day. Every morning for the past week, he’d risen a little after daybreak, only to find that the Stiles already gone, and the rest of the camp to be bustling with activity. Throughout the week, he had occasionally caught flashes of red out of the corner of his eye during the day or heard the Omega’s heartbeat, only to see the Stiles departing into the woods again. And Derek had yet to see the Omega return, before he went to sleep at night.

Today he planned to put a stop to that. He would make the Omega stop and speak with him.

Although the Stiles had been successful in avoiding him thus far, Derek had been able to pick up a pattern to his appearances. In particular, he took note of which section of the forest Stiles always disappeared into. Stiles seemed to favor heading off between a distinctive clump of trees in the south-east section of the camp’s edge. Having inspected the area himself, he couldn’t detect any kind of pathway or trail, but the Red Hood and his followers seemed to read the forest in a way that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Armed with these observations, Derek put together a rough plan to make the Red Hood listen to him. Since no one really wanted him around, the only times anyone really took notice of him was if he didn’t show up for meals or if he spent too much time loitering around others. So it was easy enough to slip away, after the midday meal, and put his plan into action. Collecting his sword from his tent, he made his way to the clump of threes and hid up in the higher branches.

Then he waited.

It turned out that he didn’t have long to wait. Stiles always popped up around meal times, normally well after everyone else had eaten, but today he was especially early. Luck seemed to be with Derek as, not more than twenty minutes after he climbed the tree, his ears picked up the sound of a familiar heartbeat and the rustle of a long cloak.

Not wanting the Omega to disappear into the woods on him again, Derek waited until he saw the edge of the red cloak pass underneath him, before he dropped down and drew his sword. Faster than Derek would have thought possible for an Omega, Stiles spun around and had his bow drawn with an arrow at the ready, aimed directly at Derek’s heart.

“I know that Alpha’s usually tend to act before thinking, but even you can’t be this stupid,” the Stiles sneered.

“I think things worked out just fine,” Derek stated with false bravado, even though he was more than a little concerned about the arrow pointed at his chest.

His plan had been to surprise the Stiles, pin him against a tree, and force the Omega to talk to him. So far, things weren’t exactly going the way he’d hoped. But at least they were talking.

“Really?” the Omega gave him a look that let him know he didn’t buy that for a second. “And just how did you plan on killing me, before I shot you full of arrows. I could empty my entire quiver into you, before your first swing.”

“You’re not that fast,” Derek snarled, but he wasn’t too certain.

“You willing to gamble your life on it?” the Omega smirked.

“I never planned on killing you,” Derek growled. “I just wanted to talk.”

“The giant sword in your hand says otherwise,” Stiles snorted.

Careful not to make any movement that could be misinterpreted as threatening, he slowly sheathed his sword, “How else was I supposed to get you to speak with me, when you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I’ve been busy,” Stiles sputtered indignantly, lowering his bow but still holding the arrow at the ready. “You know, helping people. It’s kind of my thing.”

“And that’s what I wanted to speak with you about,” Derek ground out. “I wish to assist you.”

“ _Really_ ,” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“My offer is sincere,” Derek said, struggling to hold back his rising temper. “Your work is quite dangerous. I imagine there are any number of ways an Alpha would be useful in accomplishing it.”

“Oh sure, we’ll just bring you along with us to the King’s Road, where you can run off the second our backs are turned,” Stiles jeered. “How dumb do you think I am?”

He hadn’t actually through the Red Hood would accept his first proposal, but it had been worth a shot. Besides, everybody knew you had to open a negotiation with a high bid and bargain your way down to what you really wanted.

“If you won’t let me join you, then at least give me something to do here in the camp to keep me occupied,” Derek pleaded, hating how weak he sounded.

“I’m _so sorry_ we don’t host any tournaments or have any jesters for your _enjoyment_ ,” Stiles said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Why bother, when you’re enough of a fool to keep everyone entertained,” Derek snapped, eyes flashing.

The icy look Stiles gave him cooled his anger and he took an involuntary step back.

“Do us all a favor and spend the time developing a better personality,” Stiles advised, as he turned on his heels and started to march away.

“Wait! I can’t sit here all winter doing NOTHING!” he all but shouted after him. All his carefully planned arguments had been thrown out the window, because of his damn pride. Now he was reduced to begging. “Put me to work or at least steal a book from one of the nobles you rob. Anything!”

“You want something to keep you occupied,” Stiles gave him a mischievous grin. “Okay then. Since you’ll be here all winter, I’ll let you earn your keep. Find Little Vernon and tell him to put you to work. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of tasks to keep you busy.”

 

*

 

The Omega told him to find Little Vernon and offer his services, but he’d neglected to mention what Little Vernon looked like, or even where Derek could locate him. He would have to ask, but he was uncertain to whom he should address his inquiry. Having observed the workings of the camp, he determined that the large, dark skinned Beta, who had wielded a quarterstaff, appeared to be in command, whenever the Red Hood was away, and was therefore his best option.

He quickly located the Beta near the western edge of the camp. The large man was busy at work chopping wood, while a steady stream of young children collected the split wood and carried it off somewhere else.

As he approached the larger man, it occurred to him that, even though he’d seen the man every day for over a week, he didn’t have the faintest idea what the man’s name was. In fact, he didn’t know the names of anyone in the camp, with the exception of Stiles, Erica, Melissa, and Scott. Less than a handful. He remembered how his mother had known the names of every person who served in the Hale Castle and the names of their spouses and children. She would be ashamed of his appalling behavior. He made a mental note to remedy that ignorance promptly, if for no other reason than his parents had raised him with better manners than that.

Approaching the Beta, he waited until the axe in his hands wasn’t swinging before clearing his throat. Instead of pausing and giving Derek his full attention, the Beta simply continued chopping wood, as if Derek wasn’t even there. Only the children acknowledged his presence by stopping to stare at him, like some strange creature had wandered into their midst. Annoyed, Derek cleared his throat again, more pointedly this time. It wasn’t until he did it a third time that the Beta finally put down his axe and met his eye.

“You going to say something or are you just waiting for me to get you a glass of water for that parched throat?” the Beta gave him an unimpressed look.

“I’m looking for Little Vernon,” Derek announced more sharply than he’d originally intended. “The Red Hood told me I could render my services to him.”

There was an outburst of giggles from the children, but he ignored them.

“Of course he did,” the other man snorted but didn’t offer Derek any assistance in locating him.

“Do you know where I might find him?” Derek inquired tersely, attempting to keep a civil tone.

There was another round of laughter, before the Beta answered, “You’re looking at him.”

“You’re _Little_ Vernon?” he asked incredulously.

“Big Vernon was my father,” the other man said by way of explanation, as he went back to chopping wood.

“I’m assuming that he’s even taller than you,” Derek hazarded a guess, though it was hard to imagine someone larger than the man in front of him.

“When I was a kid, he was,” the Beta answered. “Everyone just calls me Boyd now. Stiles is the only one who still calls me Little Vernon. He thinks it’s funny.”

 _He always did have an unusual sense of humor._ Derek remembered.

“Then I suppose it is to you that I am to report,” Derek stated.

“I don’t know what Stiles expect me to have you do,” Boyd responded, pausing again. “Not many jobs for a noble around here. Even fewer for an injured noble.”

He was getting really fed up with everyone assuming he was some pampered lay-about, just because he had a title.

“My arm is fine,” Derek growled, disliking the way the Betas so causally dismissed his offer to help. “You can ask the Healer, if you don’t believe me. And I’m no stranger to hard work.”

Boyd raised a questioning eyebrow at that but then shrugged it off.

“All right,” Boyd smirked. “You can help with the firewood.”

Peering at the stockpile of uncut wood for the first time, Derek realized there was more than enough for the both of them to chop all day. All he needed was another axe, but it didn’t look like Boyd had one and he made no move to hand over his.

“The pile of chopped pieces is over there,” Boyd pointed. “Grab an armful and then follow the kids. They’ll show you where it goes.”

Anger surged through him, at the Beta’s words. He wasn’t some invalid that had to be regulated to the same menial tasks as a child.

He was on the verge of snarling at the other man but then he caught sight of the children’s wide-eyed and slightly fearful gazes and thought better of it. They were already afraid of him and he didn’t want to make it worse. Once his mind was on this track, he realized even more reason why that would have been a bad idea. Boyd was obviously an authority figure in the camp and speaking down to him in such a public manner certainly wouldn’t endear him in their minds. And, while he was fairly certain he could defeat Boyd in single combat, he very much doubted that the others in the camp would stand passively aside, as their friend and leader was attacked.

For his part, Boyd just stood patiently waiting for Derek’s response, his face a perfect mask of calm indifference.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Derek squared his shoulders and walked purposely towards the pile of cut wood. Filling his arms with as much as he could carry, he followed the giggling children. They led him to the section of the camp that served as a storage area, near the cooking fires and food stores. There he saw that the children were placing the wood under a large canvas tarp that would presumably protect it from the worst of the snow.

Dropping his haul on top of the stack, he quickly returned to grab another and another. If he was forced to such a degrading task, he would at least get it over with as quickly as possible. The soon all the wood was moved, to sooner he could move onto some other—and hopefully more useful—task.

However, he soon found himself thwarted in that endeavor, by the very children he was working alongside. Having concluded that he wasn’t as terrifying as they originally assumed, they decided it would be fun to play a frivolous game of keep-away with each armload of wood that he brought. As soon as he dropped it on the pile, they would snatch up the pieces and toss them back and forth with each other, as he tried to get them back. Only when he started to lose his temper, did they restack the wood and run off before he could catch them. They kept this up for most of the afternoon, slowing him down immensely.

By the time his already sour mood had worsened to a state of perpetual sulking, Boyd took pity on him and explained why the children were vexing him.

“You’re stacking the wood the wrong way,” Boyd stated simply, not even stopping what he was doing.

“What!” Derek snapped, as he was gathering another armload.

“You’re stacking the wood the wrong way,” Boyd repeated slowly. “You’re just throwing it down and that’s why the brats keep stealing it and restacking it the right way.”

“How do you stack wood the wrong way?” Derek asked defensively.

_It’s wood for crying out loud. You put it in a pile and grab a log, when the fire gets low._

“Place them bark side up,” Boyd elaborated. “Tree bark is naturally water resistant. If you put it bark side down, then water can’t drain out of the wood and it doesn’t burn as well. Putting it bark side up gives you nice, dry firewood.”

Derek wanted to argue that it shouldn’t matter, but it actually made a lot of sense.

“Why couldn’t they just tell me I was doing it wrong?” Derek huffed.

“Where would be the fun in that?” Boyd smirked.

Scowling, he grabbed one more piece and went over to the storage area. This time, instead of just dumping it, he neatly placed it bark side up and was gratified to see that the children didn’t steal it. Though he could have done without the riot of laughter.

After that, things progressed smoothly. Derek had a feeling that he had somehow passed some kind of unspoken test. His reward was taking over the axe duty, when Boyd finally took a break. At first it was more difficult than he’d expected. His arm was still a little weak from healing and tired from hauling wood. Also, swinging an axe was nothing like swinging a sword, but he quickly adjusted.

Once he found a good rhythm, he went at it with everything he had. It was the perfect outlet to vent all his frustration he’d been feeling. And, if he imagined the Queen’s head on the block, instead of the pieces of wood he was splitting, it was no one’s concern but his.

“That’s enough for today,” Boyd called out. “If you keep going like that, you won’t even be able to lift your arms tomorrow.”

“I can handle a little more,” Derek insisted.

“Maybe you can, but the axe can’t,” Boyd countered.

Pausing, Derek looked down at the axe in his hands. The blade was starting to dull and the axe head itself looked like it was getting loose. A few more hard blows and it could go flying off and hit someone.

“Give it here,” Boyd ordered. “We only have the one, so we have to be careful with it. Elizabeth can sharpen it and reaffix it.”

“Elizabeth is the smith?” Derek inquired, determined to fulfill his earlier promise to learn everyone’s name. There was a small brick forge in the camp that was constantly attended by a stocky Beta woman with flaming red hair and freckles, so it was a fair guess that she would be the one to repair any metalwork.

“That’s right,” Boyd confirmed and then added with a grin, “if you keep up this rate, you might just learn everyone in the camp’s names by spring.”

He glared at Boyd, but it lacked any real heat. The truth was that he felt better at that moment then he had in over a week. Physical exertion always helped him to calm down and relax—a trait common among Alphas. His sister always used to joke that he was only bearable, after he got back from the training yard.

He was in such a good mood, that he even ventured to ask Boyd a question that had been on his mind all week. “Why is everyone still afraid of me?”

“Who’s still afraid of you?” Boyd gave him a puzzled look.

“Everyone,” he shrugged. “The whole camp is on edge, because I’m here.”

Boyd snorted, “Stiles is right, nobles really do think they’re the center of the world. No one is afraid of you, or did you miss the part where the runts were messing with you earlier?”

“The entire camp stinks of fear and anxiety,” Derek accused. “And everywhere I go, I hear people whispering ‘Hale’…”

Even as he spoke, another terrifying explanation dawned on him. He wasn’t the only Hale in the Kingdom. What if something had happened to his sisters? The Queen was angry with him for evading her trap. What if she was taking out her ire on his family? Or what if Queen Victoria had also planned similar traps for all the Hales and he was the only one who escaped.

So caught up in picturing one horrible scenario after another, it took him a moment to process that Boyd was speaking to him.

“Your sisters are fine,” Boyd assured him.

“How do you know?” Derek demanded.

“Because that kind of news would have spread like wildfire,” Boyd reasoned. “And because the Queen wouldn’t dare going after them inside the Palace. The only reason she attempted to kill you was because it was away from the eyes of the Court and it could be made to look like someone else did it.”

Comforted by that bit of common sense, he breathed a little easier. His sisters were safe, for the time being. But as his heart rate started to return to a normal state, another thought struck him.

“What is happening in the Hale lands?”

He knew he’d hit the nail on the head that time, by the way that Boyd stiffened and went silent.

“How bad is it,” he pressed.

“Bad,” Boyd said simply.

“Harris?”

Boyd nodded.

“Tell me.”

“He’s put the Hale lands on lockdown,” Boyd elaborated. “No one goes in or out without his permission. And he’s using armed men to enforce it.”

“Can’t you just sneak past them?”

“We can, but we can’t get all the supplies in that way.”

Derek snarled and flashed his eyes, “Are you doing anything to help them?”

“More than you’ve done in the past ten years,” Boyd shot back harshly.

That stung, mostly because he knew it was true. Trapped in the Palace, he and his sisters had been powerless to do anything to help the people that were supposed to be under their protection.

Thankfully, Boyd relented and explained that Stiles and the others were scouting out the villages, trying to determine a way to either sneak the supplies in or cause some kind of diversion to distract the guards. So far, none of their ideas were very usable.

The sun was setting and supper was almost ready. Even though he’d worked hard all day, Derek found that he didn’t have much of an appétit. Picking at his food, he barely registered the rest of the camp around him. He certainly didn’t notice a red cloaked figure watching him throughout the meal.

It wasn’t until he reached his tent to turn in for the night that he was surprised out of his stupor. Just outside his tent there was a tallow candle with a flint and tinder to light it. Candles were scarce in the camp. Mostly everyone went to bed before dark or found their way by moonlight. They didn’t have their own chandler either, because most chandlers made enough money selling candles and soap to noble lords to be able to pay their taxes.

Interest piqued, he lit the candle and went inside his tent. There was no other scent besides his own and no physical sign that anyone else had entered, but resting on his pillow was a slim leather-bound book. Curiosity overrode caution, as he approached it slowly. It was an old and well-worn book. The faded leather was cracking and the gilt tooling on the front and spine was too worn away to decipher the original design.

Opening the cover, the faint vanilla scent of old books wafted up to his nose and he found himself grinning despite himself. Turning to the title page, he discovered that it was a book of children’s fairy tales. Confused, he picked the book up, only to find a scrap of foolscap underneath it.

He put the book down to pick up the foolscap. In small, neat handwriting and written with ink that smelled of berries, was the following message:

                        _Lord Hale,_

_You complained of having no books to read, so_

_I have generously provided one for you. I think_

_you’ll approve of my selection, since you seem to_

_believe yourself to be the hero of this tale._

In place of a signature, there was a stylized drawing of a hooded cloak entwined with a bow and arrow.

Scowling, he crumbled the paper in his hand. If his life was a fairy tale, then it was certainly a dark and twisted one. Mad King Gerard killing almost his entire family, being trapped in the Royal Court, under Queen Victoria’s rule, and now being stuck in an outlaw’s camp, unable to help his people. Some fairy tale indeed. In fact, if anyone believed they were the dashing hero in some story, it would be the Red Hood, running around, thumbing his nose at the Queen. The Omega clearly had a death wish.

Placing the book carefully to the side and blowing out the candle, he resolved that tomorrow he would learn more about what was going on and find a way to help. With that in mind, he fell into a fitful sleep.

 

 You can follow me on tumblr [here!](http://luminescentlily.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more Stiles and Derek interaction for you and Derek get's properly introduced to Boyd. I'm on a roll with this story right now and I'm going to keep working on it for a while, so sorry to anyone hoping for an update on "Coffee & Politics". My writing schedule is all screwed up, thanks to the slashed tires situation mentioned above, so I don't know exactly when I'll have the next chapter posted, but hopefully it won't be longer than a week.
> 
> Comments and critiques equal love <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry I didn't warn people about how long it took me to post this chapter. I completely forgot that I was going on vacation to visit my little sister for her high school graduation. Geeze, just saying that makes me feel old.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys weren't too disappointed by the wait.

 

 

***Outside a Small Village in the Hale Lands***

Kicking at piles of fallen leaves in frustration, Stiles made his way back to camp, after yet another futile scouting expedition. He was never one to fall into bouts of depression, but the situation in the Hale Lands was becoming dire and he still had no idea how to handle it.

Well, that wasn’t true. He’d thought of several ways to handle a few villages individually, but nothing that would allow him to help everyone.

The problem was that Harris was actually being intelligent about what he was doing for once. Stiles had never doubted that Sir Adrian of Harris possessed a certain kind of base cunning—that’s what made outwitting him all the more enjoyable—but the planning and execution of this new scheme showed a level of brainpower that was far beyond anything he’d ever shown in the past. There wasn’t a single doubt in Stiles’s mind that this plan came from someone else. If he had to bet, he’d put his money was on Lady Katherine.

Every town had been converted into a miniature fort, complete with a surrounding outer wall, for their “protection against marauding bandits.” The walls themselves weren’t that tall, easy enough to get up and over with an armload of supplies, except that the tops of these walls were protected by crude spikes and bits of jagged glass. And they were well patrolled, day and night, by the platoon of soldiers stationed in each village. The only safe way in or out of each village was through the main gates. But no one was allowed in or out of the village, without permission from the Captain in charge, and everyone was searched on their way back in.

Even with all those precautions, getting over the walls and past the patrolling guards might have been possible, if the soldiers’ patrols weren’t completely random. Normally, when sneaking past guards, all you had to do was learn their routine and wait for them to get far enough along on their rout to not hear you or wait until the shift change. But there didn’t seem to be any kind of pattern or order to who patrolled or when their shifts started and ended. Even worse, it appeared that the patrols were being done that way one purpose.

The brilliance of it wasn’t lost on him, even though he despised it. Stiles couldn’t risk sneaking over a wall, when he didn’t know when the next patrolling guard would be walking by. And he certainly didn’t have enough people to take on an entire platoon of soldiers, let along manage it without endangering the lives of the villagers.

He was stumped and he hated it. Hated being helpless and unable to do anything. Hated knowing that people were suffering because he couldn’t fix it.

Back at the camp, the general mood was almost as gloomy as his own. Everyone was tense and worried. In the past, whenever something like this happened, he had always come up with some ingenious plan to foil the constables and the Queen’s soldiers.

But not this time.

People were starting to lose faith in him and not just at the camp either. Word of what was happening in the Hale Lands was spreading like wildfire. If he couldn’t find some way to circumvent Harris’s defenses, then people would lose hope and Stiles shuddered to think of the violent reaction people could have, when they lost all hope.

Then there was the fact that some of the other Nobles of the Kingdom might see Sir Harris’s success against him and implement similar measures in their own lands. Not all the Lords in the Kingdom were as heedless to the needs of their people as Sir Harris was, but there were more than a few who were. It was bad enough having the Hale Lands tied up and under guard but he would be damned, if he let any more of the Kingdom fall into that kind of tyranny.

Unable to think of any viable options, he decided to hold a group meeting of his friends that night, after most of the camp had gone to sleep. The others might have had some ideas that he didn’t think of or, if nothing else, bouncing a few of his own ideas off the others usually helped him thing a little better.

 

***Back at the Red Hood’s Camp, Late at Night***

 

“What if you showed yourself along the north side of one of the villages, got all the guards attention that way, and then we sneak in on the other side, while they’re distracted?” Scott put forward.

“That was the first thing I thought of,” Stiles shook his head. “It might work one or two times, but eventually the soldiers would wise up and stop falling for it.”

“That’s assuming they’d fall for it in the first place,” Erica grumbled. “I don’t know about you but the soldiers I observed weren’t the typical bottom of the barrel scum that Harris usually employs. These guys have had real training.”

“I noticed that as well,” Stiles hummed in agreement. “I figured they are part of Lady Katherine’s personal guard, or at least the commanders of each platoon are and they’re whipping the others into shape.”

“Why do you say that?” Isaac inquired. “What if they’re the Queen’s and she’s using the Hale Lands to test some new methods?”

“Because Harris is Lady Katherine’s creature,” Stiles responded. “He doesn’t so much as take a piss without her say so.”

“And because the Queen wouldn’t waist valuable, well trained soldiers on guarding villages,” Boyd added.

“Especially when she’d already rung every cent out of them that she possibly could,” Stiles snorted. “Boyd’s right. If those were the Queen’s soldiers, she’d have already shipped them off to help King Christopher in the Holy Lands.”

“Still, there are an awful lot of them,” Isaac pointed out.

Isaac had a point and it was something that had been nagging at the back of his mind for a while as well. There seemed to be more soldiers in the Hale Lands than there should be. Even if you assumed that some were went sent by Lady Katherine, there were still a lot of them.

 _But I can’t waste time on that now,_ he thought irritably. _I need to focus on getting food to all those trapped people._

They continued to debate various ideas back and forth for over an hour but they were still no closer to a solution than when they first started.

“What if we disguise the supplies at extra rations for the soldiers?” Isaac suggested. “They might share a little bit of the extra food with the people rather than let it all go to waste.”

“Think again,” Erica sneered bitterly. “I was watching one village near the eastern boarder today. A cabbage farmer offered the guards at the gate a portion of his crop in exchange for a few blankets. The soldiers confiscated his entire crop and smashed it into the dirt right in front of him.”

Stiles had seen similar injustices on his own scouting missions. His fingers had itched to knock an arrow to his bow and teach those thugs a lesson, but he’d only just managed to hold himself back.

“Besides, the soldiers aren’t eating rations,” Stiles went on. “Harris is forcing the villages to provide them food and lodging as the price for their ‘protection.’”

“We need a way to draw the soldiers away from the villages,” Boyd stated.

“The only reason Harris would call them back is if he thought he was in danger,” Stiles remarked. “He’s such a coward; he’d hire an entire army just to protect him from a mouse.”

They all gave a few weak chuckles but quickly sobered, when they remembered what they were discussing.

“Or to protect his own food supplies,” Scott mused, quietly.

“What was that?” Stiles asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Scott shook his head. “Just thinking out loud.”

“That’s kind of what we’re all here for, Scotty,” Stiles urged. “So why don’t you share with the rest of the group.”

Scott hesitated for a few moments, but eventually gave in to the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. “You said he’d hire and army to protect him from a mouse. I was just thinking that he’d probably send an army out for food as well, if he needed to restock his castle. Especially because he’d be terrified you’d steal it.”

“Yeah that sounds like something Harris would do,” Erica snorted in delight. “I can just picture it.”

“An entire battalion just to bring him a loaf of bread,” Isaac quipped. “And a company of knights for his butter.”

The others continued to joke and banter, but Stiles was no longer paying attention. The wheels of his mind were spinning like crazy, as an idea began to form. Sir Harris already had the Hale Castle stocked with enough supplies to last him through winter, but what if something were to happen to them? He’d have to get more.

_And wouldn’t that cost him a pretty penny this late in the season._

If Harris thought that the Red Hood had anything to do with it—and Stiles would make sure he knew—then he would be paranoid about his incoming supplies and the security of the Castle. Paranoid enough to call back the bulk of the soldiers scattered over the Hale Lands to not only escort the food to the Castle but also defend it all winter, leaving the villages wide open for he and his friends to get in.

But how to get to Harris’s winter stores? Built into the side of a mountain, the Hale Castle—even after the fire—was nearly impregnable. That’s the reason Talia of Hale had used it as the stronghold of her rebellion. The only reason it had fallen to the Mad King the first time, was because of a traitor from within. It would take months for an army to seize the Castle, but Stiles didn’t want to seize it, he just wanted to sneak in.

“How many men are stationed at Hale Castle,” he burst out, his mind still whirling with all the possibilities.

The others stared blankly at him, until he realized he hadn’t actually explained any of what was going on in his head to them. It took a little while for him to properly explain his idea, mostly because he kept babbling and splitting off on new thought steams midsentence in his excitement. Once they managed to catch up with Stiles’s thought process, they all began perk up in interest.

“There are significantly fewer guards than normal,” Isaac informed him. “But you really only need a handful of men to hold Hale Castle.”

“To hold it from an army,” Boyd pointed out. “But we’re not trying to capture it.”

“Still, it won’t exactly be easy,” Erica interjected. “We could probably manage getting in without any trouble, as long as we’re careful, but getting back out loaded down with all those supplies will be a bit trickier.”

“What if we take one of our earlier ideas?” Stiles suggested. “I show myself, or someone else in my cloak shows themselves near the castle and distracts all the guards, while the others sneak in?”

“It could work,” Boyd acknowledged hesitantly but then pointed out a flaw. “But for how long. It’ll take a while to move all those stores. Or it could have the opposite effect. It might make Harris even more paranoid to the point where he doubles his guard and makes it even harder for us to slip in.”

“You’re probably right,” Stiles sighed in irritation.

The more he thought about it the more he wanted to pursue this path. He wanted to hurt Harris for what he’d been doing to the people of the Hale Lands. He wanted Harris to know the kind of fear that he instilled in others. And it would work! He knew it would, but the devil was always in the details.

Lost in thought, he was started by a familiar voice from the trees calling out, “There’s another way.”

Twisting around so fast he nearly fell out of his seat, he watched Derek of Hale emerge from the tree line.

“I don’t remember inviting you to this meeting, Lord Hale,” Stiles snapped as he got to his feet.

“You didn’t,” Derek stated. “That’s why I was listening from the trees.”

“Spying,” Stiles sneered, his anger rising as it always seemed to do around Derek.

“How else was I going to learn about what’s going on around here?” Derek shot back.

“You—”

“What do you mean there’s another way?” Boyd cut him off. “Another way into the Hale Castle?”

“Yes,” Derek grunted.

They all stood there for a few moments, listening to the crackling of the fire, as they wait for Derek to say more.

“Care to elaborate on that a little bit?” Stiles prodded.

“Not before I have some assurances,” Derek crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“We promise not to steal any of your family’s stuff,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “No fancy suits of armor or ancient tapestries for us.”

Scowling, Derek all but growled out, “I want to go with you.”

“Out of the question,” Stiles answered immediately.

“You’ll need me to get in,” Derek snarled.

“How?” Stiles asked. “You going to just waltz up to the front gate and order Harris to give you back your castle?”

“There’s a secret tunnel that runs under the Castle and out into the forest,” Derek growled, then continued in a softer voice. “It’s how my sisters and I escaped during the fire.”

Suddenly Stiles felt like a colossal jackass.

“Wouldn’t Harris have found it by now?” Erica asked, saving Stiles from some of his embarrassment. “He’s been there for over a decade.”

“No,” Derek replied with absolute certainty in his tone. “Only members of my family knew about the tunnel. Both entrances were well hidden and my Uncle Peter sacrificed himself to close and hide the Castle entrance behind us.”

“Where does this tunnel lead to?” Stiles managed to ask. “If we did use this secret tunnel, we wouldn’t pop up right in Harris’s bedroom or anything, would we?”

A small grin formed on Derek’s lips. “No, the Castle entrance is in the store rooms in the lower levels of the Castle.”

A secret tunnel leading straight into the Hale Castle store rooms! It sounded too good to be true.

Narrowing his eyes, he asked, “Where does the other end of the tunnel lead?”

“Agree to take me with you and I’ll lead you right to it,”

“Still not gonna happen,” Stiles held firm. “Even if this tunnel truly exists, you’d bolt the second we took you to familiar territory.”

“I give you my word—”

“Like I’d trust the word of a noble,” Stiles sneered.

“They’re my people!” Derek snarled. “I want to help them just as much as you do!”

Both of them glared at each other, eyes flaring. Alpha red against Omega gold. Every fiber of his being screamed with the instinct to bow to an Alpha’s will, but Stiles refused to drop his gaze in submission. He was the leader here, he was the Red Hood.

“Stiles, come one man,” Scott pleaded. “This could be our best chance.”

“And can’t hurt to hear him out,” Boyd advised.

He knew they were right. If Derek was speaking the truth, this tunnel was the perfect way to accomplish his goals. But something in him wouldn’t—couldn’t—give in to Derek. With any other Alpha, he would have faked a show of submission and tricked them into letting them think they were in charge, but not with Derek. He wanted Derek to know that he wasn’t some pushover, that he could give just as good as he got.

Relenting slightly but still holding the Alpha’s gaze, he asked, “What exactly would you want.”

“As I said before, I want to come with you,” Derek explained. “I’ll show you exactly where the tunnel entrance is and guide you through it to the store rooms. I can even help you carry all of Sir Harris’s stores back out. When that’s done, I give you my word as a Hale that I will return with you here to this camp and make no attempt at escape. I will let you hold my Family’s Sword here in the camp as assurance.”

Then Derek did something that shocked Stiles to his core. The Alpha lowered his eyes in recognition of Stiles’s authority. Even though that had been what Stiles wanted, it still threw him for a loop. An Alpha almost never showed submission to an Omega, unless the Omega was of the Royal Family, and even then it was rare.

It was that, more than anything else which finally swayed Stiles.

“Fine,” he huffed. “But you’ll stay where I can see you at all times, and you’ll follow my orders to the letter. Understood?”

“Yes,” Derek ground out with a scowl.

“Good,” Stiles nodded, sitting down once more. “Now tell me about this tunnel.”

The Alpha just stared at him blankly.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles elaborated, “How big is it? Tall enough for someone to stand in, or will we have to crouch? Is it wide enough for a cart? Or will we have to carry everything by hand? Is it made of packed earth or of rock that could be slippery? Is it just a straight, one way tunnel, or does it branch off into multiple directions that we could be lost in? I need details!”

Once Derek realized he wasn’t trying to weasel the tunnels location out of him, he started answering as many of Stiles questions as he could from what he remembered. The tunnel was tall enough for most people to stand, through Boyd might have to slouch his head a bit. It was wide enough for two people to walk side by side or someone with a small handcart. There were a few false tunnels that ended in dead ends, but Derek was confident that he could remember the correct path. The tunnel itself was cut into the side of the mountain, so it was made of solid rock, but Derek remembered that it was dry.

“You’re sure,” Stiles pressed. “It might be dry in the summer months, but in the winter—”

“The Fire was in the middle of winter, and the tunnel was dry as a bone,” Derek answered sharply.

“Fair enough,” Stiles conceded.

The conversation continued for some time, as they hammered out the logistics and decided on when they would make their move. It wasn’t until the entire plan was almost fully formed that they ran into a snag.

“There’s just one more issue,” Derek announced.

“What now?” Stiles groaned.

“To protect the Castle from the very act we are about to attempt, the Castle entrance was designed to lock from the inside,” Derek explained. “I’ll have to be inside to unlock it.”

“Now you tell us!” Stiles exclaimed. “You should have probably started with that.”

“I didn’t think it would be that much of a hardship,” Derek shrugged. “You are a thief after all. And you were discussing sneaking into the Castle beforehand.”

“Yes but, as you helpfully pointed out, I’m a thief,” Stiles countered. “I know how to sneak past guards and keep to the shadows, you don’t. So, why don’t you tell me how to unlock the door, and I’ll sneak in.”

“The door is hidden and you don’t know how to work the mechanism to unlock it,” Derek shot back.

“Then describe it for me,” Stiles said. “I’m quite clever. If you can do it, I should have no problem at all.”

“That’s not—” Derek began, but Stiles cut him off.

“You agreed to follow my orders,” Stiles reminded him sternly.

For a moment, Stiles thought Derek would challenge him again, but the Alpha grudgingly relented.

“All right,” Stiles decided. “Tomorrow, Erica, Scott, and I will scout out the Hale Castle for the best way for me to sneak in. Boyd and Isaac will start organizing some of the others to join us on this mission. There’s going to be a lot of supplies in Harris’s store room, so the more people we have, the faster we can move them, and the less chance we’ll have of getting caught. Hale, you spend tomorrow remembering every scrap of information you possilby can about the layout of the Hale Castle. You’re going to have to help me figure out the best route to the store rooms.”

With their plan well established, they all headed off to bed feeling much better now that they were finally going to do something about Harris.

 

*

 

The next day proved to be less successful than Stiles had anticipated. It seemed that the Castle guards had adopted the same random patrol pattern as the soldiers in the villages. There was no way for Stiles to predict when or where any of the guards would be at any given time. He could have knocked a few unconscious but, because of the odd patrol times, there was a significant chance that the sleeping guards would be discovered and the alert sounded, increasing their chances of being discovered.

There were a few other places that weren’t as heavily patrolled, where he could sneak by, as long as he stuck to the shadows. However, these areas only lead to large locked doors. Stiles was a decent lock pick, not anywhere as good as Friar Finstock, but not bad. But again, the random patrols made it a tricky endeavor. And the fact that he had no idea what was behind those doors. They could lead to empty hallway, or they could take him directly to a room full of guards waiting to skewer him.

Again he returned to the camp, angry and frustrated. They were so close. He consulted with Derek again, to see if there was any possible way to force the secret door open from the outside but, after Derek explained the mechanism that kept it locked, he agreed it was impossible. They were stuck again.

Needing to clear his head, he made his way through the camp towards the archery range. On his way, he was stopped by Tara, a baker who helped cook and keep the food stores for the camp.

“Stiles!” she called out. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Stiles replied, trying make his voice more cheerful than he really felt. He knew the importance of putting on a brave face to encourage those around him.

“I thought you’d like to see what we’ve been doing with all the apples you found last week,” she smiled.

“Absolutely,” he gave a fake smile back.

He really just wanted to put a few arrows into something but part of being in charge was actually listening to people.

Tara led him over to the cooking and storage area of the camp and showed him all the work they’d been doing.

“Most of the apples are being turned into cider for winter,” she explained. “But we’ve still canned and preserved a lot of them for treats and baked goods. And we still have an entire barrel of them left over. We figured we’d keep these aside as a treat for the children.”

“They’ll love that,” Stiles agreed, picking up a perfectly ripe one and taking a bite.

“Good aren’t they,” Tara laughed.

“Hmmm,” Stiles hummed in approval.

As if on cue, two of the younger children ran up and asked if they could have one as well.

Without missing a beat, Stiles grabbed a couple and toss them to the waiting children. They looked at him with wide, adoring eyes, before running off to enjoy their apples.

“They looked like I’d just given them apples made of gold,” Stiles snorted.

“Well apples like these are a princely gift these days,” Tara pointed out. “Not many people can afford a bowl gruel, let alone fresh fruit. I bet the Queen herself is having to cut back on her feasts, up at the palace.”

“True, but I’d wager all the gold I’ve ever stolen that the Lady Katherine and her cronies aren’t skimping on their meals,” Stiles bet.

He took another bit of his apple and then nearly choked, as a sudden idea sprang to mind.

“Don’t give out anymore apples,” he ordered Tara abruptly.

“Why!?!” Tara asked in alarm. “Is there something wrong with them? Should I go get them back from the children?”

“There’s nothing wrong with them,” Stiles assured excitedly. “They’re perfect. Better than perfect. But we’re going to need them!”

Stiles dashed off, leaving a confused Tara in his wake. He’d just figured out exactly how he was going to get into the Hale Castle. He was going to go right in through the front gate and Sir Harris would probably hold the door open for him personally.

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Comments and critiques are always welcome :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I had been neglecting the Alpha/Beta/Omega aspect of this fic recently, so I added some elements in the chapter to remedy that. Hopefully they fit in with the rest of the story and don't seem too out of place.

 

 

***The Red Hood’s Camp***

“It’s brilliant!” Stiles exclaimed, as he finished going over his plan with the others.

“It’s insane!” Erica countered. “Stiles, that plan is suicide!”

“Only if they catch me,” Stiles grinned. “Which they won’t. Scott, back me up on this.”

“I don’t know man,” Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m kinda with Erica on this one. Your idea sounds a little crazy, even for you.”

“Oh come on!” Stiles groaned. “It’s no worse than any of my other plans and they always go off without a hitch.”

“What about you plan to sneak us into Whittemore Manor dressed as an acting troupe,” Erica recalled. “Only none of us could act or even knew any lines. We nearly got our heads cut off, when the Captain of the Guards ordered us to perform, before he would let us inside.”

“That was one time. And I didn’t think the guards would actually—”

“Or the one where you wanted to scale the walls of Royal Treasury using arrows you shot into the side of the Tower as handholds,” Boyd prompted. “Except, you didn’t realize that the arrows couldn’t support your weight and you nearly broke your neck, when you fell.”

“You can’t count that—”

Then Isaac jumped in too, “And then there was the one—”

“Okay, okay,” Stiles sighed in defeat against such traitorous friends, with their stupid perfect memory. “So not all my plans are flawless, but this one will work. I know it.”

“What will work?” Derek asked, coming up behind them.

Whipping around in surprise, Stiles miscalculated where his feet should go and ended up stumbling onto his hands and knees, in front of the Alpha. Looking up, he saw a brief flash of red in Derek’s eyes that sent a little jolt of pleasure down his spine and straight to his groin. Struggling against how natural it felt to be down on all four before Derek, he scrambling back to his feet, silently cursing both his clumsiness and his unconscious Omega responses.

_Stupid hormones and damn Omega instincts._

Intellectually he didn’t want to submit to an Alpha, but his body and mind weren’t always in agreement. Around Betas it usually wasn’t a problem, but around Alphas—especially this particular Alpha—it was a little trickier. His body was more than willing to slump down onto the ground and thrust his ass into the air for Derek to mount him.

Up until that very moment, he’d been doing such a good job of hiding his attraction to Derek—mostly by avoiding and drowning his attraction in righteous anger—but this time he’d been caught off guard. Humiliated, he tried to cover his body’s response by ducking his head and brushing dirt and leaves off his knees, but he still spotted Derek’s nostrils flaring, as the Alpha took in his scent. Feeling his face start to flush, he snapped at the Alpha, “Stop sneaking up on us, or I’m going to put a bell on you!”

Stiles expected Derek to smirk or make some snide comment about offering to help take care of his needs, but he didn’t. Instead, he watched as an odd combination of emotions flit across the Alpha’s face. Derek’s brow furrowed in confusion and his jaw clenched in what could be anger or restraint, but the only words he uttered were to ask if Stiles had found a way past the patrols at the Hale Castle.

“Apples,” Stiles replied simply, immensely grateful for a change of topic.

“Apples?” Derek repeated skeptically.

“I’m going to enter the Castle hidden in the bottom of a barrel of apples that will be delivered to Sir Harris, as a gift from Lady Katherine,” Stiles stated proudly. “I won’t have to sneak through the Castle, because they’ll unknowingly carry me right to the storerooms. Genius, right!”

Derek didn’t say anything and instead just stared at him, like he’d grown a second head.

“Oh come on!” Stiles shouted. “How is this plan not perfect?”

“For starters, the guards could smell you,” Boyd stated.

“Not over the smell of all those apples,” Stiles argued. “Besides, I’ll be under a false bottom as well.”

“What if you run out of air,” Erica interjected.

“I’ll cut an air hole in the barrel,” Stiles responded. “And it can serve as a spy hole, so I’ll know when it’s safe to come out. Now just admit that this is the perfect plan.”

“Except apples are never stored in barrels; they’re stored in bushels and those are too small for you to hide in,” Isaac informed him.

Stiles turned to Derek and asked, “Did you know that apples were stored in bushels and not barrels?”

Derek narrowed his eyes at him, as if he though Stiles was trying to trick him somehow but admitted that he had not known that.

“If someone as reasonably intelligent as Hale didn’t know that, I highly doubt Sir Harris will notice,” Stiles pointed out. “Besides, he’ll be so busy fawning over the fact that Lady Katherine sent him a gift, I doubt he’d notice if the apples started spontaneously changing colors right before his eyes.”

“What if the guards decide to take some for themselves and notice the barrel isn’t as deep as it should be?” Scott asked.

“How many guards do you know of that would risk Lady Katherine’s wrath by taking something from a gift she had bestowed on another?” Stiles countered.

A few of the other shuddered at the very thought.

“Exactly,” Stiles smirked. “And that’s also why they won’t bother inspecting it too carefully.”

“But how will you convince the guards that the barrel is from Lady Katherine?” Derek asked.

“Don’t worry about that,” Stiles gloated. “I know the best forger in the Kingdom _and_ I know someone who can get ahold of Lady Katherine’s favorite perfume.”

The Alpha still looked skeptical but then conceded, “It could work.”

“Yes, see—wait, what?” Stiles stammered. “You agree with me. Now I’m starting to think I need to rework this idea a little.”

Scowling, Derek continued, “It’s a solid plan. Better than anything else we have.”

Erica rolled her eyes and huffed, while Scott rubbed the back of his neck again, but no one disagreed.

“But I should be the one in the barrel,” Derek went on.

“No way,” Stiles objected. “It’s my plan, so I’m the one that goes in the barrel. And we already agreed that I would be the one going in the Castle, while you showed everyone else the way to the tunnel.”

“That was before,” Derek rationalized. “When you didn’t think I was skilled enough to evade the guards. With this new plan, that won’t be a problem. I can hide in the barrel and open the door, once I’m inside.”

“You’re too big,” Scott countered.

“Yeah, you’re huge, so I—”

“I’ll go in the barrel,” Scott interrupted.

“What! NO!” Stiles protested. “This is not up for debate. I’m the smallest one, and that means there will be room for the most apples, if I’m the one in the barrel, which will give me the greatest chance of succeeding.”

It was true for the most part. While he was taller than Erica and even Scott, his Omega build was slimmer and he would be able to fit into a smaller place a lot easier than any of the others.

“But we can’t risk you,” Scott disputed. “You’re the Red Hood. Harris wants you more than anyone.”

“But he doesn’t know I’m the Red Hood,” Stiles reminded them. “If I get caught, I’ll be in the same amount of danger, as any of you.”

“Not exactly the same,” Isaac mumbled.

Clenching his fists, Stiles refused to verbally acknowledge that, though the others—even Derek—all stiffened. If a Beta were caught doing something like this, they would be put in the dungeons and might even be executed. But the rules for Omegas were different. Omegas had very few rights and were essentially the property of first their parents, when they’re children, and then their spouse, if they ever married. In-between those two, Omegas were locked in convents, once they presented and stayed there, until they were married off. Any Omega caught out on their own could legally be claimed by any Alpha or a Beta Lord. If Stiles were found…he didn’t even want to think about it.

“Either I go in the barrel, or no one does,” Stiles stated forcefully and no one argued.

“All right, now that that’s settled, let’s get moving,” Stiles ordered. “I want to do this as soon as possible but we’ve still got a lot to do. Boyd, I want you, Scott, and Erica to star organizing and moving caches of supplies to areas outside the villages. I want to be able to get them what they need, as soon as the guards leave. Isaac, go see Da—” he paused and threw a cautious look at Derek “go see you-know-who about forging a letter from Lady Katherine, as quick as he possibly can.”

The others all went about their tasks, eager to finally prepare for striking back against Harris. That left just Stiles and Derek alone, which was a situation that Stiles certainly didn’t want to deal with. Especially after the disastrous incident earlier, when Derek first appeared. For a moment, Stiles was stumped as to what to do. He tried to think of a task for Derek to do, or even some excuse for himself, but his mind was uncommonly blank. He was about to just walk away, when he spotted something in Derek’s hands.

“What are those?” he inquired, nodding to the rolled up papers in Derek’s hands.

“Before…you asked me to call up everything I knew about Hale Castle, to help you navigate your way to the store rooms,” Derek explained, unrolling the papers for him to see. “I managed a crude drawing of the layout, but it’s not much use now.”

He had given the Alpha some paper, a bottle of ink, and a quill the other night, so he could possibly sketch out a rough diagram of the Hale Castle for that very purpose. Looking at them now, he couldn’t help but be impressed. He’d expected Derek to give him a childish scribble, but instead Derek produced a sketch with a scribe’s level of detail. Stiles had seen actual maps that weren’t as precise as Derek’s ‘crude drawing.’

“Mind if I take this one?” he inquired, reaching for one that showed one of the middle levels of the castle.

“What for?” Derek asked warily.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles replied, “I already promised that I wouldn’t steal any of your family’s stuff.”

Derek continued to give him a skeptical look.

Sighing in exasperation, he elaborated, “I want it to send a message to Harris. He’ll probably guess that we were the ones who broke in but I want to leave him a little note and I figure a map of the Hale Castle hanging from the store room walls by one my arrows would add a nice touch. It would be even better, if the arrow were sticking right through Harris’s bedroom. I’m assuming it’s the big, master bedroom here.”

Derek checked where Stiles was pointing and nodded. “It was my parents’ room. Harris would probably take that one as his own.”

“Perfect,” Stiles said with an evil smile.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, until Stiles abruptly realized just how close they were standing. Derek seemed to come to the same realization a few seconds later, as their eyes met in for an awkward moment.

“Well…I’m just…going to go,” Stiles announced. “Lots of …things to do…stuff to prepare and such.”

He wasn’t proud of how quickly he left.

 

*

 

Once the final piece of the plan was figured out, everything else happened quickly. They go the fake letter from Lady Katherine and official herald travel papers, complete with all the proper wax seals, to be able to move about the Hale Lands, courtesy of Danny the Scribe. Danny was an old friend of Stiles’s from his childhood at the Palace. The talented scribe could have gone to work for the King himself, but for inexplicable reason, he’d chosen to work for the spoiled, pompous brat that was Lord Whittemore. He actually _liked_ Lord Whittemore, go figure.

Danny was also a master forger, who had helped him on numerous occasions by forging fake prisoner transfer order for rescue missions and by passing along whatever information he managed to glean from Lord Whittemore’s correspondence with other Lords. When he heard about what was happening in the Hale Lands, he was more than willing to help with the fake letter. Once they had that, they were ready to make their move.

 

 

***A Few Miles Away from the Hale Castle***

“This is going to go horribly wrong,” Isaac groaned.

“Way to stay positive,” Stiles grumbled.

“I’m being realistic here,” Isaac complained. “This is never going to work.”

“Not with that attitude, it won’t,” Stiles shot back.

“Try to relax, Isaac,” Scott squeezed the Beta’s shoulder. “You’ll do great.”

Isaac seemed to take heart from Scott’s words and gave him a weak smile. Never mind that Stiles had been trying to reassure Isaac for over an hour.

They had all decided that Isaac should be the one to deliver the barrel to the Castle, as the messenger, with Boyd tagging along as a ‘guard.’ Isaac was the best-spoken one of their group. More than that, he was the pretties and least threatening. Even though Isaac was a Beta, he possessed all the charm and fragile beauty of a stereotypical Omega. And Lady Katherine was well known for employing good looking servants.

Now that Isaac had settled down, it was time for Stiles to get into the barrel. Isaac and Boyd would then deliver him to the guards at the front gate and then return to the others, just out of sight. They’d keep watch to make sure Stiles got in okay and then follow Derek to the secret tunnel. If everything worked out as it was supposed to, they would meet again in the store room.

He was about to climb in, when Scott’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Pretty sure I’ve got everything,” Stiles replied, patting his pockets to see that he had his dagger and other supplies.

“The cloak, Stiles,” Scott pointed out. “You’re still wearing it. It’ll be bad enough, if they catch you. But if they realize who you really are, Harris might just execute you on the spot.”

“Harris doesn’t have the spine to make a decision like that by himself,” Stiles quipped but he still took off his cloak and handed it to his best friend.

“Be careful in there,” Scott cautioned.

“Always am,” Stiles winked.

“Maybe this isn’t the craziest idea you’ve ever come up with,” Boyd allowed. “But it is the one that has the most potential danger. You’ve never taken a risk this big. If you fail, you’ll be trapped, with no way to escape into the forest and no way for us to come and get you.”

“Yeah, well the stakes have never been this high before, either,” Stiles muttered.

“Well, do us a favor and don’t get caught,” Eric chimed in. “It would be a real pain to have to come rescue you. So, keep your mouth shut for once.”

“I’ll try,” he smirked and climbed in the barrel.

Without really meaning to, his eyes sought out Derek and found the Alpha staring at him. Catching his eye, Derek gave him a little half nod, which seemed to say ‘good luck.’ It gave him a little flutter to know that Derek cared, but he quickly shook that thought aways, to concentrate on the mission.

“What a waste of good apples,” Isaac lamented, dragging Stiles’s attention back to the others.

“If everything goes well, we’ll have them back, along with all the food in Hale Castle,” Stiles stated confidently.

“How will we know?” Scott asked. “If things don’t go well, that is?”

“If you see my head on a pike, that will be a pretty definite sign,” Stiles joked. Or at least he meant it as a joke. Unfortunately it didn’t quite come out that way.

“Nothing bad is going to happen,” Scott announced with such conviction that it gave them all hope. “We’ll see you soon, Stiles.”

“You bet,” Stiles beamed. “And then we’ll feast, courtesy of Sir Adrian of Harris.”

With that, Stiles lowered himself down and pulled the false bottom down over him. He felt a light pounding on top of him, as he was engulfed in the scent of apples. The barrel and all the apples muffled the sounds of the outside world. But he did feel when the barrel was lifted up onto a wagon and started making its way down the road. The air became stuffy and hot in no time, but he could still breathe easily.

He knew when they reached the Castle gate because he heard a guard call for them to halt and the wagon stopped rather abruptly. This was the moment Stiles had worried about the most. It was right here that they were most likely to be caught. If Isaac couldn’t convince them that they were who they claimed to be, they would have to make a break for it.

All Stiles could hear was the murmuring of voices. Back and forth they continued for some time. Stiles’s anxiety increased in equal proportion to how long the exchange dragged on. He couldn’t make out any specific of the conversation, though he clearly heard Isaac announce the name, Lady Katherine. Even in the barrel, Stiles could feel the guards’ demeanor change at the name.

Not a moment later, the wagon was moving again and they were entering the Hale Castle courtyard. Stiles allowed himself a small sigh of relief but then reminded himself that they’d only past the first hurdle. There was still significant risk ahead.

The barrel was jostled again, as it was lowered from the wagon and set down on the ground. Risking a peak out of his spy hole, he just barely made out Boyd and Isaac, as they climbed back up on the wagon and went back out through the castle gate.

_All on my own now._

He didn’t have long to dwell on that thought, as his barrel was quickly lifted again and not as gently as before. The steady rocking of the wagon ride had been tolerable but the jerky, bumpy journey up the endless flights of stairs in the castle was quickly making him nauseous. Add in the cramped feeling that was starting to creep into his legs and it was not the most pleasant journey he’d ever been on, to say the least.

The barrel was set down again, but not in the store room. Not unless Harris now employed musicians to entertain his food supplies.

“What is that?” the unmistakably, shrill voice of Sir Adrian of Harris questioned.

Stiles shifted as little as he could to get in a better position, though he didn’t dare try his spy hole here. Tightening his hand around his dagger he waited. The guards were presumably explaining things to Harris, but Stiles couldn’t hear them.

“The Lady Katherine!” Stiles heard Harris exclaim. Then there was more murmuring.

Stiles counted his heartbeats to remain calm. This was the second most dangerous point in his plan. While not overly intelligent, Sir Harris wasn’t by any mean stupid either. He might sense a trap and order the barrel to be searched. Then his heart nearly beat out of his chest, when he felt the barrel jostle slightly, as the lid was removed.

 _It’s okay; he’s just checking the contents. You expected something like this._ He reassured himself.

There was a rumbling above him as the apples were moved around. He offered a silent prayer to any deity that would listen for Harris to not reach too deep into the barrel. Then there was a little more jostling, as the lid was put back in place.

There was more murmuring and then Harris’s voice calling out from further ways, “And don’t think I won’t know, if there are any missing.”

Another silent sigh, as another hurdle was crossed.

Unfortunately for him, this meant another trip with the clumsy guards on the stairs. This time they were headed down stairs and it seemed even bumpier and longer than before. He also noticed that the sound seemed to amplify the deeper they went into the castle and he could hear the guards speaking a litter clearer. Or maybe they were simply talking louder, now that there was there was less chance of Harris, or their captain, overhearing them.

“Do we have to carry the barrel all the way,” guard #1 complained. “It’s so bloody heavy. How the _hell_ can apples be this heavy?”

“Because there’s a lot of them you dolt,” guard #2 replied irritably. “And Sir Adrian ordered us to bring it down to the store rooms.”

“I know that,” guard #1 retorted. “What I meant was do we have to _carry_ it. Can’t we just roll it down the stairs?”

 _Dear God, please no!_ He internally pleaded.

He was already on the verge of puking, just from their inept handling. There was no way he’d be able to hold back, if they just tossed the barrel down the stairs. Then there was the fact that the barrel might burst open, if it bounced too hard.

“Do you want to be responsible, if his precious apples from Lady Katherine herself, are damaged?” guard #2 threatened.

 _Never thought I’d be grateful for Harris and Lady Katherine’s harsh reputations._ He mused.

The overwhelming smell of apples was starting to bother him just as much as the jerky ride. It would be quite some time, before he ever ate an apple without getting queasy. He had no idea how much longer he had to endure this, all he did know was that they had better reach the storerooms soon.

He heard the guards call out to a third person and then there was a jingle of keys. Sticking his eye up against his spy hold, he watched as a third guard opened a heavy oak door to a darkened room beyond.

Mercifully, he was brought in and finally set down. From his spy hole, he could make out vague silhouettes of crates and other barrels around him. Then he heard the door closing and everything went pitch black.

Though he wanted nothing more than to burst out of this barrel, breath some fresh air, and stretch his legs, he still had to be cautious. Slowly, he counted to one hundred and then began rocking the barrel back and forth. His stomach protested a little but, it would be worth it to get out of there. After one more shift of his weight, the barrel fell to its side.

Again he waited, both for the barrel to come to a stop rolling and then to see if anyone came to investigate the noise. He counted to two hundred this time, then made his next move. One of the carpenters at the camp had modified the barrel so that the bottom could be opened from the inside and only the inside. Throughout his turbulent migration around the castle, he’d been especially careful not to accidentally open it.

Once he twisted the little block of wood that held it in place, his legs burst out of the bottom. Unable to hold back an audible sigh of relief, he stayed like that for a moment, letting the blood rush back into his limbs. Waiting until the feeling came back to his legs before standing up, he shimmied the rest of the way out of the barrel.

The air wasn’t quite fresh but it was better than what he’d been breathing in the barrel. Taking big gulping breaths, he tried to adjust himself to his new environment. Even in the dark, he could tell that it was a cavernously large room. Carefully standing up, he felt around in his pocket for the candle he’d stashed there earlier. It was only slightly swashed by his weight and it still lit, with his flint and tinder.

The candle only cast a small pool of light, but it was enough for him to not trip over anything. When they got there, the others would have torches to light their way. Taking a quick look around, he used his tiny candle to navigate the small maze of crates, boxes, barrel, and sacks all filled to the brim with food stuffs.

He was pretty sure he’d never seen this much food in one place, in his entire life. There was so much more food here than was needed for those currently at the Hale Castle. Harris could have feed all the soldiers stationed in all the villages in the Hale Lands for a year and still have plenty left over. There was probably enough food to feed an army in there.

He tried to take a mental tally of how much was there and how many trips it would take to move it all, but he would need to see how much they could move through the tunnel at a time first. Thoughts of the tunnel reminded him that he was supposed to be looking for the mechanism to open the door. All his hard work in getting there wouldn’t mean much, if he couldn’t get back out again.

Locating the entrance door again, he set his candle down and carefully unlocked the door. Even though the door was massive, it was well balanced and the hinges kept nicely oiled. It moved easily for him, as he pulled it open just a sliver. The guard with the keys was lounging on a stool at the end of the hall, with his back toward Stiles. After all, the guard was there to protect anyone from getting to the store rooms, not expecting to guard the rest of the castles from the store rooms. Satisfied that he wouldn’t be bothering them, he closed the door again.

Next he picked up his candle again searched around the stone doorframe, for a stone that was significantly smoother than the rest. Derek had explained that the reason his Uncle couldn’t escape with his sister and him was because the lever for the secret door was next to the store room entrance—just another precaution against thieves. In order to open the secret, you had to push down on the large smooth stone to reveal a compartment with a lever. That lever then had to be held down to open and keep the door open. If you let go of the lever the door closed.

When they were escaping, they could have wedged the lever up with something, but then the Alphas King Gerard had sent in after the fire might have been able to follow and capture them. Peter of Hale had sacrificed his life, so that they could hide their trail and give his nieces and nephew their best chance of escape.

Stiles found the correct stone and pressed it down to reveal the lever, just as Derek had described it, though he didn’t open it yet. If the secret door caused too much of a commotion, he wanted to have plenty of backup ready to face any guards that came to investigate.

Releasing the smooth stone, he made his way to the back wall, to the approximate location of the hidden door. When the others got there, they would give a specific series of knocks that would let Stiles know they were there. Satisfied that everything was going smoothly, he found a comfortable enough crate to sit on and waited for his friends to arrive.

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Derek's POV as he leads the others through the secret tunnels.
> 
> Comments and critiques are always welcome and encouraged :D


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

***A Few Miles Away from the Hale Castle***

With bated breath, Derek watched the wagon carrying Stiles, stuffed in the bottom of an apple barrel, slowly approach his former home. Just seeing the Hale Castle again set off a multitude of feeling inside of him and not all of them were pleasant. It was hard for him to believe that the safe and cheerful place of his childhood was the same dark and foreboding fortress that he was currently looking at.

It had been over ten years since the fire that had taken the lives of most of his family, but the walls of the Hale Castle were still blackened with scorch marks. It gave the entire castle a sinister air that made him uncomfortable. So much so, that he didn’t even realize how tightly he was squeezing his fists, until his fingers started to go numb. Flexing his fingers, he cursed himself for the weakness.

Luckily, everyone else was too busy concentrating on the wagon to notice him.

The air was an almost overwhelming miasma of nervousness and fear, getting steadily worse, as the wagon inched closer. There was a palpable tension in the air, by the time the wagon reached the Castle gate. And, as the seconds ticked by without the guards letting the wagon through, he became more and more concerned for the success of the plan. He tried to brush it off as simply being effected by everyone else’s nerves, but he couldn’t deny that tiny voice in the back of his mind calling him a liar.

Part of it was worry for the success of the plan. If this failed, who knew how many people in his family’s lands might starve or freeze this winter. Another part was his Alpha instincts urging him to come to the defense of an unmated Omega. But he couldn’t fool himself into thinking that the largest part wasn’t his own memories of a loud little boy, who used to follow him around and endlessly pester him with question, when he’d first arrived at the Royal Palace, all those years ago.

Even though he’d recognized who the Red Hood was when they first met, it was sometimes difficult to reconcile the image of that rambunctious child with the confident and determined young man in the red cloak. It was even harder to reconcile the confident and determined young man with being an Omega. Omegas were supposed to be docile and submissive. That was the whole reason they appealed so much to Alphas in the first place. But that certainly wasn’t Stiles.

If Derek were brutally honest with himself, he would admit that he may have actually like this Omega’s bossy attitude. He might even say he liked it a little _too_ _much_. His preferences had always run towards Betas or other Alphas, because they could be his equals and give as good as they got. Meek and submissive Omegas had never really held much appeal to him, other than their alluring scent. And Stiles could definitely give as good as he got. Derek liked that Stiles challenged—and had even beaten—him. If Stiles had been another Alpha or a Beta, that would have been one thing, but the fact that Stiles was an Omega who could take him on only made him more attractive in Derek’s mind.

But Derek was something of an expert at deluding himself and stamping down his own emotions. This was exactly what he was doing at that moment; forcing his feelings down into the dark recesses of his mind, away from the harsh light of introspection. Instead, he focused his sense on anything that could keep his mind on the current mission. The lingering traces of Lady Katherine’s cloyingly sweet perfume—and how the hell had Stiles gotten a hold of a bottle of that!—was a good distraction. There was once a time that he would have reveled in that scent but—

 _No don’t think of that now!_ He ordered himself.

A quick gasp dragged him back to the present moment. Drawing his gaze back to the wagon, he was just in time to see the wagon enter into the castle. A little while later, the wagon came back out, minus the barrel. Stiles was inside. While the Omega still had more to go through to actually get to the storerooms, there was nothing else they could do, now that he was inside. Their only option was to carry on with the rest of the plan and pray that Stiles was there to meet them, at the other end of the tunnel.

As soon as Boyd and Isaac returned, they made their way towards the area of the tunnel’s entrance. Even in the dark the Red Hood’s friends managed to effortlessly maneuver through the woods. Derek could only just keep up, because he had explored every inch of these lands as a boy. And because he no longer had a sack over his head.

Even though they were willing to let him help sneak into his castle, they still didn’t trust him with the location of their camp or—more importantly—how to make his way from the camp back to familiar territory. On the trip to the Hale Lands, they had but a turnip sack over his head to blind him and overwhelm his sense of smell. He was also fairly certain that they had left earlier than necessary and went in a few circles, just to confuse him further.

Now with the full moon shining down on them, he was able to pick out the path to the secret tunnel, as if he’d been there only yesterday. Finding the tunnel entrance in the side of the mountain wasn’t as hard as he’d feared, but opening it was. Through the years, it had become overgrown with weeds and ivy, which was both good and annoying. Good because it was proof that the tunnel hadn’t been discovered, but annoying because it would take time to clear it all away.

If he’d had his sword, it would have take less time, but the Red Hood had made him leave it behind. Stiles’s rationale had been that it was a stealth mission and he wouldn’t need it, but Derek knew it was just further proof of how little he was actually trusted. Just like the sack over his head or how Stiles had caught himself, before he revealed the name of their forger. He knew they were only being cautions. He _was_ still an outsider—and a noble at that—to them, but it still stung.

Once the tunnel entrance was clear, they took their first few steps inside and lit the torches, not wanting to risk the light out in the open. Derek went first, since he knew the way. Reluctantly taking a torch—even small flames like this made him uneasy—he wished he had his sword more than ever. The torch cast a wide circle of light, but it was very long tunnel and dark tunnel.

Flickering torch light gave everything an ominous feeling, or maybe it was his own anxiety that made it seem so. The last time he’d been in this tunnel had been the worst night of his life. He’d thought it wouldn’t bother him as much, since it had been so long ago, but he was wrong. The pain was still as fresh and raw, as that night years ago, when he and his sisters were running for their lives. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the screams that had come from the castle and feel his sisters desperately clutching his hands.

With every step he took, his dread increased. His heart was pounding against his ribs and his breath sounded harsh in his own ears. By the time they were about a third of the way there, he was so tense that he lashed out, when Scott placed a hand on his shoulder. Without thinking he spun around and pinned the Beta to the wall, a fierce snarl ripped from his throat.

If Scott had struggled or tried to fight back, he might have seriously hurt or even killed the Beta. But Scott did neither. Instead, Scott had just looked at him with large liquid eyes and asked, “Are you okay?” But it was seeing the red cloak clutched in the Beta’s hands, like a talisman, that managed to jar him out of murderous condition and remind him of why he was there.

“This place is bringing back too many memories,” he answered by way of explanation, abruptly letting the Beta out of his grasp.

Scott nodded in understanding and let him have a moment to take a few calming breaths, before they continued on. Though Scott had been incredibly nonchalant about the incident, Derek didn’t miss the way Erica had started to draw her sword or how Boyd had tightened his grip on his Bo staff.

After that, Scott decided that they could use some conversation, to lighten the mood. The floppy-haired Beta wasn’t a natural talker, like Stiles, but he did an admirable job of alleviating some of the tension in the air and making their journey a little more bearable. Derek still felt uneasy, but focusing on Scott’s voice helped a great deal.

Not long after his little episode, they came across the first split in the tunnel. Back at the camp, he’d been confident that he could navigate the tunnel back to the castle entrance but, now that he was actually here, he wasn’t so sure. Both choices looked exactly the same. It had been far too long since he and his sisters had come through there for him to be able to pick of any trace of their scent and the plain, rough-cut stone of the tunnel offered no clues.

Since he couldn’t rely on his memories, he used his Alpha senses. He couldn’t hear any difference from the tunnels, nor could he see one, but he could smell one. The air coming from the tunnel on the right was, for lack of a better word, staler than the other. It was faint—almost imperceptibly so—but the difference was definitely there. Armed with that observation, he made his choice and led them down the tunnel on the left. He repeated that choosing process for the next three splits in direction.

Being underground had a strange way of messing with his sense of time. It felt like they had been walking this tunnel for hours, though he knew it couldn’t have been that long. Still, a sliver of doubt that he had taken a wrong turn was starting to creep into the back of his mind. Just as he was beginning to fear he’d gotten them hopelessly lost, they came up to a large stone door, carved with the Hale triskele and connected to large mechanical cogs and gears.

“We’re here!” he announced in equal parts triumph and relief.

Stepping back, he allowed Scott to move ahead of him, to the door. The Beta immediately stepped forward and executed a complex series of knocks, to signal Stiles that they were there. For a heart-stopping few moments there was utter silence. He didn’t even dare to breathe for fear of missing Stiles’s return signal. Then there was an answering series on knocks and they all relaxed.

They waited again for Stiles to open the door. Derek had a moment to worry that Stiles hadn’t been able to find the hidden lever. He’d done his best to describe it, but he wasn’t the best with words. A minute later there was a low rumbling, as the gears connected to the door started to turn. They groaned in protest, from being neglected for so long, and slowly the door started to open. The door halted halfway but Derek just handed his torch to Scott and, using his Alpha strength, was able to push it open the rest of the way.

Scott didn’t even wait for Derek to get the door all the way open, before he was rushing past him and into the storeroom. With the torch illuminating the room, Derek saw the excited Beta throw his arms around the Omega in a relieved hug. An irrational flash of jealousy flashed through him, but he brushed it off, as a natural reaction of an Alpha around any Omega.

What he couldn’t brush off was how the door started to close on him, because Scott had accidentally knocked Stiles’s hand away from the lever. “Crap, sorry!” he heard Scott’s rather loud whisper from the other end of the room, as the door stopped moving and he was able push it open again.

Behind him, Boyd made his way into the storeroom, with some kind of metal bar and a coil of rope. The large Beta walked over to Stiles and Scott and, after a little maneuvering, they managed to wedge the metal bar in such a way that it held the lever in place. The rope was tied around the middle of the bar so that, when it was time for them to make their escape, all they had to do was pull the other end of the rope and reel in the bar, before the door closed, leaving no trace of how they had entered.

“Thanks for that,” Stiles sighed. “A few more minutes and I think my arm would have fallen off.”

As soon as Stiles was free, Scott handed him back his red cloak, his bow, and his quiver. Watching him put them on; Derek was amazed at the almost physical transformation that took place. One second Stiles was just a fairly tall— _and beautiful_ he thought—Omega and the next he seemed to become larger, bolder, and just _more_. He stopped being an Omega and became the Red Hood.

He didn’t have long to dwell on that thought, as Stiles was quickly but spiritedly filling them in on his own adventure from the front gate, down to the storeroom, complete with a few jokes at Harris’s expense. “I can just picture him up in his room, probably rubbing ‘Lady Katherine’s letter’ all over his face, to scent himself with her perfume,” Stiles laughed softly. He did warn them all not to be too loud, because of a guard at the end of the hall. “We should be fine, as long as we’re quiet. He didn’t hear me busting out of the apple barrel and he certainly didn’t come running, when the door opened.”

After that, Erica handed him a folded piece of parchment and, using one of his trademark red fletched arrows, he stuck it into the main entrance door. “A little thank you note for Sir Harris,” Stiles smirked. Derek also recognized the map he’d drawn and felt pride at knowing his efforts would help contribute to a least a few of Sir Harris’s future sleepless nights.

Taking a good look around, he was amazed at the amount of food and other stores. The only other time he’d seen the storerooms this full was when his mother had been preparing the Castle for the siege Mad King Gerard had put the Castle under. She had said that they would be enough food to feed all their soldiers for two years. There was no way Sir Harris needed all this just for one winter.

Suddenly, he was angrier than he’d ever been in his life. How dare Harris hoard all this food, while people were starving! Did he have no heart? Did he feel nothing to condemn hundreds to a slow cruel death? No, Derek knew it was even worse than that. Sir Harris, just like countless other noble lords he’d be simple didn’t even think about the people, let alone care about them. They thought that, because they were lucky enough to be born into a good family, it meant that everyone else was somehow less than they were and deserved their lot in life. They thought of poor people like they thought of objects, less than objects, because the wealthy were quick to anger, if you damaged something that belonged to them. But people were always expendable.

He hoped Stiles’s little note terrified Harris. Hoped Harris wouldn’t be able to sleep for weeks and that he would jump at every shadow. He hoped that Harris would feel even one tenth of the fear that most of the people under him felt on a daily bases. But he didn’t have time to wallow in his anger. Stiles, in what Derek was learning to identify as typical Stiles manner, had taken charge and was already instructing the others in what to take out first.

“There’s no way we’ll be able to fit all of this in our one little wagon,” Stiles observed. “But most of this is well sealed, so it should be okay, if we leave it near the tunnel entrance for a day or two. We’ll take all the sacks, like the grains and flour with us, because they’ll never last in the open. Tara will love this one. I don’t think I’ve seen flour this fine, since I left the Royal Palace. Bet she could make us manchet for the holidays this year. The kids will love that.”

More organized than a formation of the King’s soldiers, the others all got to work moving and organizing things to be carried through the tunnel.

“You too Hale,” Stiles pointed at him. “We might as well put those big Alpha muscles of yours to use.”

Derek didn’t know if he should feel insulted of complimented, but he was ready to help in any way possible. They all worked quickly and efficiently and with a little noise as possible. Boyd and Derek were tasked with carrying most of the heavy stuff, though Scott and Isaac sometimes lifted things together. The tunnel was large enough for a barrel to roll sideways in, so Erica claimed that task, while Stiles busied himself with carrying sacks of smaller things and arranging them on the wagon, in such a way that they were able to fit the maximum amount of food.

It was around his second trip back up to the storeroom and he was really starting to break a sweat, when he realized a potentially fatal flaw in their plan. They were all working hard and sweating to prove it. Their sweat was releasing large amounts of their scent into the air, completely filling the storeroom. Some of the others might just be Betas, with no connection to anyone at the Castle, but Sir Harris would definitely recognize his scent and maybe Stiles and Scott’s, as well. And if Harris recognized Stiles’s scent, then it would spell serious trouble for Sheriff Stilinski!

Erica was returning right behind him, so he grabbed her arm and barked, “Go get tell Stiles and Scott they can’t come in here again!”

“What are you talking about?” she hissed, wrenching her arm out of his grasp.

“Our scents are filling this room,” Derek explained in a harsh whisper. “If Harris smells Stiles, even if they don’t catch him, they’ll go after his father. Queen Victoria might even arrest him.”

Rather becoming alarmed, Erica just smiled and leaned in to whisper, “You’re cute when you’re worried.”

Reeling back in confusion, he was about to flash his eyes at her, when she held up her hands for him to wait. “Relax Alpha,” she crooned. “Stiles already thought of that and devised a way to deal with it.”

From a pouch at side, she pulled out two vials, one large and one small and each emanating a distasteful odor, even though they were both securely closed and sealed with wax. The scent coming from the small one was easily recognizable as more of Lady Katherine’s perfume, but the scent from the larger one was harder to place. The only way he could think of to describe it was a composite of every foul odor he’d ever had the ill-luck to ever smell.

“What is that?” he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“One is more of Lady Katherine’s nasty perfume, but I’m sure you already guessed that,” she answered with a smirk. “The other is something Stiles whipped up. Some brew of noxious weeds, rotten eggs, skunk spray—don’t even ask how he got _that_ —and a whole bunch of other vile things that I don’t even want to think about. Once all the food is out of here, I’m going to splash Stiles’s note to Harris with the perfume and sprinkle whatever is left on the ground—it’ll ruin Harris’s trust of any actual gifts Lady Katherine sends him in the future. Then I’ll smash the other bottle on the floor and we hightail it out of here. The smell will fill up the room so badly; they probably won’t even be able to store any new stores in here for a while.”

It was simplistic but utterly perfect. Stiles really had thought of everything. It made him wonder, if Stiles might suspect Derek’s own plan for being here.

Derek hadn’t lied, when he promised Stiles he wouldn’t run and that he would willingly return with them to their camp. He just hadn’t given up hope of letting his sisters know that he was alive and well either. Tucked inside his left boot, was a letter he’d written using the materials Stiles had given him to draw maps of the Hale Castle.

Unlike Stiles’s message to Sir Harris, he didn’t intend to leave it in the storeroom and hope that Harris passed it along to his sisters. No, he’d been counting on there being a guard outside the storeroom, whom he could bribe. In addition to his letter, he also had a silver coin to pay the guard and he could promise the man a gold one from his sisters, when he’d delivered the letter. His sisters would probably be willing to pay ten gold coins just for information on him alone.

Now all he needed was the right opportunity. There were a few instances, when he thought he could sneak off for a few moments without anyone noticing, but he wanted to wait, until they’d gotten most of the stores moved. Confident in their triumph, the others would be less concerned about keeping track of him.

It was several trips back and forth through the tunnel, before the opportune moment presented itself. There were only a couple of crates left, and the others were all on their way down the tunnel. It would be a few minutes, before they reached the wagon, and realized that he wasn’t behind them. Even longer, if they weren’t paying attention and thought he’d already gone back to the storeroom. Still, it wasn’t much time and he had to act quickly.

Opening the main door as quietly as he could, he peaked out and spotted the guard seated on a low stool, just like Stiles had said. Leaving the door open a sliver, he snuck up behind the guard, as stealthily as he could manage. He was right behind the guard, before the other man felt anything off, but by then it was too late. Derek hooked his foot around one of the legs of the stool and yanked it out from under the guard. With the guard’s balance thrown off, it was all too easy for Derek to wrap one arm around his torso, trapping his arms at his side, and the other around his mouth to hinder any cries for help.

“Make a sound and I’ll rip out your throat,” he growled low in the man’s ear, pleased at the spike of fear in the other man’s scent. “Good, now I’m going to release you and, if you value your life, you won’t say or do anything to raise the alarm. Understood?”

When the man nodded, he gently released him to turn around.

“Do you know who I am?” the guard shook his head, no. “I’m Lord Derek of Hale. My family is the rightful rulers of this Castle and I require your aid. I have been taken prisoner by the Red Hood and I need you to deliver a message to my sisters at the Palace. I can pay you—”

He was cut off, when the guard made a sudden lung at him with a dagger that had been on the man’s belt. Stepping to the side, he managed to evade a fatal blow, but received a deep slash along his side. Hissing in pain, he only just avoided a second attack and began retreating back towards the storeroom. With every step, the guard lunged and charged, going at Derek with everything he had, but making no attempt to summon the other guards. The guard wasn’t the best fighter, but injured, caught off guard, and without a weapon, Derek was at a disadvantage.

Another step and Derek lost his footing over a loose paving stone, sending him to the floor. He raised his arms to defend against the blow he knew was coming, but heard only the whizzing of an arrow and the clatter of a dagger dropping to the floor. Looking up, he was just in time to see the Red Hood use his bow like a club, to knock the guard over the head. The other man fell in a heap on the floor, just as Stiles turn to Derek, his eyes murderous.

“What were you thinking!” Stiles seethed. If they weren’t so worries about the other guards, Derek knew Stiles would have probably been yelling at the top of his lungs. Stiles grabbed his arm to pull him up and Derek hissed in pain. “Ugh, you’re hurt again, too!”

Half dragging him, they made their way back to the storeroom, where the others were gathered, and looking like they had been on the verge of bursting out into the hallways as well.

“We have to move. NOW!” Stiles ordered. “Isaac, you and Scott grab those last two crates. Erica the stink potion. Boyd, be ready to close the door.”

Still in a state of shock at everything that just happened and more than a little woozy from the amount of blood he was losing, he barely registered what happened next. He was vaguely aware of the others scurrying around to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. There was a whiff that foul smelling potion Erica showed him earlier, before the rumble of the secret door closing. He heard Boyd confirming that he’d managed to pull the metal bar they used to wedge the door lever back in, before the door closed all the way. Then Boyd was helping to carry him through the tunnel.

The next thing he was aware of was being hoisted up on the wagon with the food, Stiles right beside him, putting pressure on the wound on his side. They didn’t put the bag over his head again, though he couldn’t have told anyone they route through the forest, even if he tried. Blood loss had him falling in and out of consciousness.

 

*

 

He awoke two days later, on a familiar cot back in the healer’s hut.

“I’m beginning to think you like getting hacked to pieces,” Melissa bantered, when she noticed he was waking up. “Or maybe you just like the excuse to spend time with me.”

“What happened?”

“You received a rather deep cut along your side,” Melissa informed him. “Luckily, it missed any organs, but you lost quite a bit of blood. Here, drink this.” She pressed a cup of herbal tea to his lips. “You need to replenish your fluids. When you’re finished, I’ll let Stiles know you’re awake.”

It turned out that she didn’t have to go and let Stiles know, the Omega had already been on his way to check on Derek. Seeing the intense look on Stiles’s face, Melissa politely excused herself to let them talk.

“So you’re not dead, after all,” Stiles remarked, pacing back and forth. “It would have served you right. What the hell were thinking! You know what? I don’t care. Because whatever it was, it was stupid! Do you realize how badly could have ruined our entire plan? Not to mention how you could have gotten all of my friends KILLED!”

Derek sat stone-faced on the cot, letting Stiles rant at him. He knew that Stiles had a legitimate point, but he wasn’t sorry he had tried.

“No, I change my mind,” Stiles raved, waving his arms about wildly. “What were you trying to do? What bone-headed scheme went through your mind that you thought stopping to have a friendly chat with a guard, WHILE WE WERE ROBBING THE STOREROOM, was a good idea?”

He stayed silent for a few moments, not sure if Stiles expected an actual answer from him or not, before he replied, “I was trying to get a letter to my sisters.”

Sighing in frustration, Stiles ran his hands through his hair and marveled, “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. So, what did you do wrong? Please tell me you didn’t ask him to do it out of the goodness of his heart?”

“I was trying to bribe him,” Derek defended.

“Obviously, you didn’t offer him enough.”

“He didn’t even give me a chance to state my offer,” Derek shot back indignantly. “He just attacked. I don’t even understand why. I mentioned that I was going to pay him.”

“It might have something to do with this,” Stiles enlightened him by pulling out a rolled up piece of parchment.

Taking a look at it, Derek was stunned to see that it was a wanted poster—his wanted poster to be exact—offering five hundred gold pieces as a reward. The poster itself was no crude bill handed out a local constable. It was written in good iron gall ink on heavy parchment paper, with an uncannily accurate etching of his face. This was the kind of wanted poster issued by the Crown and certainly Queen Victoria was the only one who could offer five hundred gold pieces for one person.

“Where did you get this?” he asked. His tongue felt like a lead weight in his mouth.

“Isaac grabbed it from the Hale Castle courtyard last night, when he was delivering me in the apple barrel,” Stiles told him. “Apparently there were tons of them laying around, ready to be distributed.”

Reading over the poster, he saw that he was wanted for treason, though the specifics weren’t listed. But the poster also said that he was wanted alive.

“Why did he attack me?” Derek asked more to himself than to Stiles.

“He wanted the reward,” Stiles stated the obvious.

“I meant, why did he attack so intensely?” Derek glared at him. “The poster says I’m wanted alive, but he attacked like he wanted to kill me. He would have killed me, if he wasn’t stopped in time.”

“You mean, if I hadn’t stopped him in time,” Stiles gestured at himself and mimed shooting an arrow. “I’m the one who saved you. Again. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he grumbled. Then quickly changed the subject. He asked how the mission had faired, after he passed out.

“Good,” Stiles replied. “We got back to camp safely and brought you straight to Melissa. The rest of the food is mostly being stored near all the villages in the Hale Lands, waiting for Harris to pull back his troops, so we can give it to the people there. And that might be happening pretty soon. Isaac and Erica stayed back to keep an eye on the Hale Castle. There was quite a commotion there in the morning.” Stiles gave an evil smirked and Derek fervently prayed that he was never on the receiving end of one of those. “Harris apparently dispatched riders to all the villages this morning and it looks like the troops are getting ready to move. And we’ll be ready, when they do.”

“That’s good,” Derek stated simply.

The Omega then stared at him intently for a little while, like he was a riddle needing to be solved.

Finally Stiles sighed and sat down on a bench, “You’re not going to stop trying to send word to your sisters, are you?”

“No,” Derek grunted.

“What if I make a deal with you?”

Derek’s interest perked up. “What kind of deal?”

“I try—try being the operative word here—I try to smuggle a letter to your sisters safely,” Stiles offered. “If I do, you stop putting my friends in danger. No more crazy stunts. You listen to my orders and tell me, before you do something stupid. Or preferably stop doing stupid things.”

“Why would you do that?” Derek asked suspiciously.

“Call it investing in the future,” Stiles answered. “And I kind of owe you.”

Derek raised an eyebrow in question.

“Telling us about the tunnel,” Stiles elaborated. “We probably wouldn’t have been as successful in getting food to the people, if not for that.”

“I would have done it anyway, to help my people,” Derek replied modestly.

“Are you really trying talk me out of doing you this favor right now,” Stiles smirked.

Seeing that Stiles was being sincere, Derek jumped at this chance, “Letters and their responses, as proof that you actually delivered them. And I’ll know if they’re forgeries.”

“One letter and one response,” Stiles countered. “One will be dangerous enough.”

“Fine,” Derek conceded. “But don’t think you can string me along forever with promises.”

“Fair enough, but I get to read the letter and approve of its content,” Stiles added firmly. Derek started to protest, but Stiles continued. “I can’t risk you giving away our location, even inadvertently, if this letter falls in the wrong hands.”

Derek wanted to argue that, but Stiles had a legitimate point.

“Deal,” Derek acquiesced to the demand.

“Good,” Stiles jumped up. “Now get some rest, and listen to Melissa. Lord knows, she’s worked hard enough to keep you alive.”

With that, Stiles turned and made his way out of the hut, only to pause halfway out the door. Turning, he looked back at Derek with a jubilant look in his eyes. “It looks like we pulled off our little heist just in time. The first snow is falling. Winter is officially here.”

Straining his eyes, Derek could just see small flecks of white slowly drifting through the air, peppering Stiles’s hair and cloak. Then Stiles was off again, to wherever it was he needed to be at that moment, and Derek was left smiling, though he didn't fully understand why.

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I know I've been telling people that I'm trying to get back to my schedule of posting a new chapter every Monday and, while that's still true, I'm going to be working on my other story Coffee & Politics again. So, that means this Story will probably be updated every other Monday. The in-between Mondays will, hopefully, be updates of Coffee & Politics. Sorry to anyone who is impatient for more of this fic, but I started both of these for the Sterek Campaign and the person who commissioned Coffee & Politics has been more than patient with me about my slow progress on that one.
> 
> As always, I welcome and encourage comments and critiques. I'm a writer and writers are always eager, and slightly nauseous with worry, to hear what people think about their work.


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

***At the Red Hood’s Camp, Deep in the Forest***

Sitting in one of his usual perches up in the branches of the Nemeton, Stiles watched Derek visibly struggle to hold a conversation with a few members of the camp, down by the cooking fires. Derek had always been quiet and reserved, for as long as Stiles could remember, but the Alpha’s newfound popularity was particularly entertaining to watch.

After the success of the Hale Castle heist, it was like the bubble of tension surrounding the camp had burst and a festive air had sprung up, in its place. Everyone was in high spirits at the defeat of Sir Harris. And the most noticeable change was in everyone’s attitude toward Lord Derek. Before they had merely tolerated his presence among them, but now he was a hero. Most of the older members of the camp now greeted him warmly, whenever he approached, and invited him to sit with them at meals. He was still teased by the children, but it was a good natured kind of teasing.

Instead of enjoying the abrupt change in treatment, Lord Derek’s new status in the camp and the amount of attention he was receiving only seemed to confuse and somewhat embarrass him—much to Stiles’s amusement. At that very moment, some of the children were pressuring him to tell them about the raid on Hale Castle—for the hundredth time—and several of the adults looked to be interested, as well. Derek looked as if he’d rather be shot with another poisoned arrow, than go through the story again.

Back when he lived at the Palace, Stiles had often watch Derek on the practice field and he could confidently say that, with a sword in his hand, Lord Derek was the epitome of Alphaness. But, when it came to making small talk with average people, Derek was a bumbling, scowling mess. Even when he had been fending off attacks on his life from the Queen’s soldiers, he hadn’t looked this pitiful.

_I’d wager anything that Derek had been a shy and awkward adolescent, as well. Especially with those cute bunny teeth of his._ Stiles mused, as he climbed down from the tree.

As if sensing what he was thinking, Derek’s eyes met his and motioned for him to come down and ~~save~~ join him, a frown firmly etched on his features. Stiles just smirked and shook his head. He’d already told that story enough times in the past week, though he’d always left out the part where Derek almost got them all caught.

Then there was the little matter of how aroused he became in Derek’s presence. Once they called their truce and Stiles stopped being so angry at the Derek all the time, he couldn’t distract himself from how attracted to the Alpha he was. Again, he cursed his Omega biology. If Derek had been a Beta, it wouldn’t have mattered. A Beta’s sense of smell was the same as an Omega, meaning they could smell enough of a person’s sent to identify them, but not much else. But an Alpha was different. Their sense of smell was so advanced, they could scent another person’s every emotion. And there was no way he wanted Derek smelling his attraction to him.

_And it’s not like it really means anything._ Stiles argued with himself. _Just because I find him physically appealing, doesn’t mean I’m going to_ _drop_ _to my knees and give in to his every command._

But would Derek see it that way? Alphas were known for taking any whiff of attraction as consent, regardless of anything that was said, especially from unmated Omegas. For now, it was better if he avoided Derek altogether.

Besides, Stiles legitimately had other things he needed to attend to. When the soldiers left the towns and villages to escort new supplies to Hale Castle, Stiles and his friends had been waiting, just out of sight, with food, blankets, and other supplies. The instant the soldiers were gone, his friends revealed themselves and were greeted like conquering heroes. Stiles could never go one these trips himself, because the risk of someone realizing he was an Omega was too high, but he’d been able to watch from a safe distance. And his friends always made sure that everyone knew who the supplies had come from and how exactly they’d gotten them.

Just seeing the jubilation of the peoples’ faces was enough for him. The only thing that even came close to how happy it made him was how thoroughly he’d humiliated Harris throughout the kingdom. Word of how they had duped Sir Adrian of Harris spread through the kingdom, like wildfire, turning the pompous Beta into the laughingstock of the entire kingdom. Even better, other noble lords now wouldn’t even dream of trying what Harris had done in the Hale Lands. After all, if the Red Hood could break into Hale Castle, the most impenetrable fortress in the Kingdom of Beacon, then he could break into anywhere. In the aftermath of his raid on the Hale Castle, many nobles had doubled their own guard and even the Royal Palace had increased their defenses.

  1. Stiles though. _Let the nobles sleep uneasy in their beds for a little while._



Even though they’d scored a major win in the Hale Lands, there was still a lot to do for the rest of the kingdom. They didn’t make all the supply deliveries themselves. The country was too large and had too many people for them to reach everyone. So, instead, they had an entire network of allies in every part of the kingdom that they distributed either a portion of reclaimed tax monies or raw materials. No one person knew everyone in the network, most didn’t even know more than the few in their part of the kingdom. It was safer that way. If any one person or section of the network were caught, they couldn’t betray the rest because you can’t betray someone you don’t know.

But he and his friends were the core members of the network. Through them, everyone else, whether they were friendly merchants or ordinary villagers, got their orders and funding. And Stiles was long overdue to go through all the tax accounts to decide how the money they stole should be divided up.

Then there was the matter of Derek’s letter.

Stiles was still a little upset at how reckless Derek had been in trying to get the letter to his sister. But he could also understand Derek’s reason for doing so. If their situations were reversed, Stiles would have done anything to let his dad know he was okay, though he liked to think he’d find a cleverer way to accomplish it.

And he should have expected it. He was holding Derek prisoner, after all. But Derek had given him his word and, for some insane reason, Stiles trusted him. Looking back, during the entire planning phase of their mission, it had never once entered Stiles’s mind to doubt that Derek would run off or double cross them. That was an oversight he would have to be careful to avoid in the future.

Thinking of Derek’s letter also reminded him that he was due to write his father a letter as well. John Stilinski, the Sheriff of the Hills Region, was a good and honorable man but, most importantly, he was a man of the law. He might not always agree with the King or Queen’s decisions, but he believes in the law and helping people through official means. That was why he could never find out that Stiles was the Red Hood. It would kill him. For that reason, Stiles had set up an elaborate method to convince his father that he was still in an Omega Convent where, according to the law, he should be.

Omega Convents—or the Blessed Order of the Faithful Lamb, as they were officially called—were where all Omegas, regardless of birth and rank, were sent as soon as they presented. It was there that they were schooled in the domestic arts to please their future Alphas. They were kept prisoner there, under the watchful eyes of Beta nuns—unable to leave and sequestered from the rest of the world—until a suitable marriage had been arranged for them. In a few rare cases, an Omega never left and took vows as a nun, instead. Neither of those prospects had appealed to Stiles, so he had created his own third option.

With the help of his friends, he was able to trick the nuns into believing that his father had arranged a marriage for him. Scott had arrived as his escort “home” and together the two of them had made started making their camp in the forest. With the help of Kira, the Convent’s private messenger, Stiles was able to send his father letters “from the Convent” on a regular bases and intercept any letter his father sent to him, before they reached the nuns. And he never had to worry about his father showing up for a surprise visit, because Alphas—even if they were the parents—weren’t allowed within five miles of the Omega Convent by Royal decree.

So far, his system had worked. His father had peace of mind, thinking he was safe at the Convent, meanwhile Stiles had his freedom. The only thing he had to worry about was his father arranging a marriage for him, though that was a long shot. His father knew how he felt about most Alphas—he wrote about it in his letters often enough—and his father would never marry him to someone, if he flat out refused them. After the fifth suitor Stiles had turned down, his father was pretty much convinced that Stiles would be taking vows and staying at the Convent forever.

Guilt weighed heavily on him for deceiving his father like this. Even more so, because he knew how much his father missed him and that, one of the main reasons his father tried to arrange a marriage for him, was to be able to see him again. But that guilt wasn’t enough to make him relinquish his freedom.

Entering the tent he shared with Scott during the winter, he rooted around in his belongings, until he found a quill and a piece of fine parchment. A few more moments of searching was rewarded with a small vial of good ink. Homemade berry ink that he made was fine for messages from the Red Hood, but his father would be suspicious of them coming from the Convent, so he always kept a small supply of the quality ink and stationary just for these letters.

Composing the letter was always harder than he initially anticipated. It was difficult to come up with things to right about regarding life in the Convent. Even for the short time he’d been there, it seemed like all they did was pray, sew, and practice keeping their eyes on the floor. He made sure to lace his letter with plenty of complaints about the food, strict nuns, and the ~~obedience lessons~~ Omega instructional classes. Then he added in questions about the Red Hood. Rumors of what happened in the Hale Lands would have reached the Convent by now—despite how much the nuns tried to insulate them—and his father would be suspicious, if he didn’t ask.

He wrote a few rough drafts on a wax tablet with a stylus first, before he committed it to ink and paper. Once he was finished writing, he set it aside to allow the ink to dry and picked up Derek’s letter to his sisters. Part of him felt like an utter creep for reading a private letter like this, but he had to protect his camp. The feeling was strange to him, because he used to love snooping through private letters and poking his nose where it didn’t belong—especially his father’s official dispatches.

_But this is different._

Pushing that though aside, he scanned the rest of the letter, but didn’t find anything that would give away their location or identities. And he was fairly certain there weren’t any coded messages in it either.

He took both letters and tucked them into a pouch at his belt and exited his tent. It was only a little past midday and, if he hurried, he figured he could make it to meet his contact and back to camp just after sunset. Stopping by the cooking tents, he snatched crust of bread and a wedge of cheese to eat on his way back. He avoided the apple barrel. Even though it had been a week since his adventure in the bottom of the apple barrel, the smell of apples still made him slightly queasy.

His destination was Whittemore Manor, just a few miles to south, closer even than the Hale Castle. Whittemore Manor was a sprawling luxury estate, built for bored, spoiled nobles to have a place to escape from the tedium and responsibilities of the larger cities. It was a place of extravagance and leisure, as different from the Hale Castle as two noble residences could possibly be. Where the Hale Castle was sturdy and plain, the Whittemore Manor was overflowing with whimsical structures and adornments—reminding Stiles of the elaborately frosted cakes they used to serve at the Palace. And, where the Hale Castle was built against a mountain for protection, the Whittemore Manor was back right against the forest for young nobles to go hunting in the summertime.

All the features that made it a perfect holiday retreat were also what made it child’s play for Stiles to sneak onto its grounds unnoticed. There was a significant increase in the number of guards patrolling, but Stile evaded them by ducking behind ornamental pavilions and sculpted hedges. Moving low to the ground, he made his way to a private, walled off garden on the east side. Thick, overgrown ivy covered the walls, like a natural ladder for him to climb.

Up until that point, he’d managed to sneak onto the Whittemore Manor grounds without a hitch but, when he reached the top of the garden wall, his foot snagged on the ivy and he tumbled clumsily down the other side. The fall further entangled him in the treacherous climbing plant, and he twisted back and forth, in an effort to free himself.

A silvery laugh broke his concentration, “Honestly Stiles, how do you ever manage to convince people to hand over their money and jewels to you?”

“An arrow pointed at their heart usually does the trick,” he pouted, kicking off the last of the clinging vines and walking towards her.

Lady Lydia of Whittemore, formally Lady Lydia of Martin, rose from her seat on a decorative garden bench and kissed him on the cheek.

Lady Lydia was an Omega, like him. They had known each other since childhood—both raised at the Royal Palace—but only really became friends when they presented as Omegas and were sent to the Convent together. Both of them had been too intelligent and too strong willed to be the docile little lambs that the nuns were determined to mold them into, though Lydia was better at pretending to go along with it than he was. Unlike him, she had chosen to accept the marriage her parents had arranged for her to Lord Jackson of Whittemore.

While he’d always disapproved of her choice—especially how she accepted Lord Whittemore of all people—he couldn’t deny how invaluable her decision had been. She was his eyes and ears for everything going on at court, as well as the mastermind behind his food and supply network.

“So, tell me everything,” she demanded, taking her seat again and gesturing for him to sit down next to her. “How did you get into Hale Castle?”

“Trade secret,” he grinned. “Just one of my many hidden talents.”

Arching a brow at him, she countered, “I rather think it had something to do with a certain missing noble Lord.”

“What have you heard?”

“Not much,” she shrugged. “Just a few whispers. Lord Derek of Hale was sent on a mission to capture you, only for his escort to be found murdered and him gone without a trace. Most people were saying that you’d killed him—preposterous, I know—but, after what happened at Hale Castle and the wanted posters… people are speculating. All sorts of wild theories are flying about. Some claim that you’re holding him in some dank cave, torturing information out of him, and others that you’re using some kind of dark magic to control him. Then there’s the rumor going around that Lord Derek is himself, the Red Hood, and has been the whole time.”

Stiles snorted, “And just how did he pull that off, right under the Queen’s nose and locked away at the Palace?”

“Idiotic, I know,” Lydia agreed. “But there are people that would believe it. The Queen for one is always willing to believe the worst of the Hales. Thankfully, she can’t act without proof. Now, are you going to tell me how you managed your little robbery of the Hale Castle, or not?”

“You were right,” Stiles relented. “Lord Derek showed us another way into the Castle. And before you ask, I won’t tell you any more about it.”

“Fair enough,” Lydia conceded, then looked thoughtful. “A secret tunnel through the mountain would be my guess. It would explain how they escaped Gerard’s siege, when he had the Castle surrounded.”

“Lydia, I just told you—”

“I won’t say anymore,” Lydia sighed. “I was just thinking aloud.”

“Well stop,” he pleaded. “Derek was already reluctant enough to give me that information; I don’t want to abuse his trust.”

“Derek?” Lydia smiled slyly. “On such an informal bases with the handsome Alpha already.”

“He’s my prisoner, Lydia!” Stiles snapped defensively, drawing back from her a little.

“And what delicious possibilities that situation can hold,” Lydia purred.

Stiles felt his face heat up, as he stammered for a reply, “That—I wouldn’t—how could you think—No, just no!”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Lydia accused.

“Not once!” Stiles lied.

Lydia opened her mouth to call him on it, but he changed the subject instead. “How is the Crown Princess? You still write to her, don’t you?”

Before being shipped off to the Omega Convent, Lydia had been Crown Princess Allison’s closest friend and the two of them still corresponded with each other regularly.

Lydia eyed him critically, but allowed him to steer the conversation in this new direction, “She’s doing well. Or, as well as can be expected, given where she is. The Crusade is going dismally. Several of our allied kingdoms have already pulled out and gone home to lick their wounds, but King Christopher persists.”

“Probably afraid of the Queen’s reaction, if he returns home defeated,” Stiles smirked.

“Undoubtedly,” Lydia agreed. “But Allison is learning some valuable lessons other there. From what little she tells me—she hates to brag about herself—she’s a very decisive leader. The soldiers all love her and she’s been writing me a lot for advice on how to make the conditions a little better for them. She genuinely cares for the men under her command and does her best to be lenient on the towns they capture. When she does ascent to the throne, she’ll be nothing like her mother.”

“Well, that’s great news for the next generation, but not much help for us now,” Stiles sighed.

“It’s a start,” Lydia chided. “Everything has to start somewhere. Now, are you going to tell me why you’re here? As much as I enjoy gossiping with you, there is quite a bit of work that needs doing, before the snows really set in.”

“I need you to hail down Kira the next time she stops by here and give her this letter for my dad,” Stiles answered.

“Of course,” Lydia smiled. “I was just about to prepare one for him myself.”

In addition to all the information she gathers for him, Lydia also wrote to his father in the guise of the Convent Abbess. She sent his father regular yearly reports on Stiles’s “progress” and Danny forged all the proper seals for it. All of it right under Lord Whittemore’s nose.

“What’s it going to say?” he inquired.

“The usual,” she laughed. “That you refuse to cooperate in class, you question everything, and your attitude is childish and insolent. I used a liberal amount of disparaging remarks and dropped several heavy hints that he should find you a mate, as soon as possible. Preferably one with a firm, disciplinary minded attitude.”

“That sounds about right,” Stiles chuckled, picturing the old, sour-faced Abbess, who ran the Omega Convent, as he handed his letter over to her.

“But I’m curious why you brought your letter to me?” Lydia questioned. “You could have easily found Kira on the road and given it to her yourself.”

“Are you going to the Palace for the First Snow celebration this year?” he deflected.

Two weeks after the first snow of every year, the Royal Family hosted a lavish ball, in celebration of the start of winter. Though he doubted most people felt in a celebratory mood this year, it was a long standing tradition, and Queen Victoria was devoted to tradition.

“I am,” Lydia answered. “We leave tomorrow. Though it will hardly be much of a celebration, considering how tight the Queen is being with the Treasury purse strings. To make it even worse, apples are off the menu, as well.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Lydia smirked. “Thanks to your little stunt with the apple barrel, Queen Victoria has banished all apples from the Palace.”

“You’re kidding?” he asked excitedly.

“I’m entirely serious,” she grinned.

“That’s fantastic!” he crowed. “What did they do with all the apples?”

“Threw them out, I suppose,” Lydia guessed. “Though I’d wager the cooks and other servants probably took them for their own families.”

“Well, I’m sorry you won’t enjoy any apple tarts at the First Snow celebration,” he mock apologized.”

“It’s not like it makes that much of a difference,” Lydia shrugged. “There will hardly be much of a celebration, given how empty the Royal coffers are. Most nobles are only making the trip in the hopes of being invited to Lady Katherine’s after party.”

Even in times of hardship, Lady Katherine was ever the picture of decadence. Stiles had no doubt that she and her cronies would be gorging themselves, while the rest of the kingdom eats scraps.

“Will you be invited to the Lady Katherine’s party?”

“Of course,” Lydia scoffed.

“Right, stupid question,” Stiles rolled his eyes, and then looked at her more seriously. “Do you think you’ll see the Duchess of Hale and her younger sister there? At the Palace, not Lady Katherine’s party.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes, but answered him, “The Duchess and Lady Hale will undoubtedly be at the Palace, given that they’re prisoners of the Crown.”

“I think you mean wards of the Crown,” Stiles corrected.

“Same thing,” Lydia countered. “Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if you could give something to them,” he asked, pulling out Derek’s letter. “Covertly.”

“I didn’t realize you had stooped to the ransom business,” Lydia sniffed.

“It’s not a ransom letter,” Stiles hissed. “It’s a letter from Der—Lord Derek, to let his sisters know he’s okay.”

Both of Lydia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise but then quickly turned into a hard stare. Stiles tried not to squirm under her harsh gaze, but he couldn’t help fidgeting. Lydia could be as intimidating as an Alpha, when she wanted to be.

“And you still maintain that Derek is _just your prisoner_ ,” Lydia accused.

“I made him a deal, Lyds,” Stiles protested. “He wouldn’t try to run and give away our location and I would deliver a letter to his sisters. That’s it!”

“I’m sure it is,” Lydia oozed sarcasm.

“Come on, Lydia,” Stiles babbled. “You know I’m not like that. I’m not some helpless Omega, who swoons at the feet of any halfway decent looking Alpha. I’m not—”

“Like me,” Lydia interrupted.

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Stiles argued.

“Just because I enjoy being mated to an Alpha, doesn’t mean I’m some simpering weakling,” she stated tightly.

“I never said you were,” Stiles objected. “But that kind of thing just isn’t for me. I don’t want to be defined by who I’m mated to.”

“You think being mated to Jackson is what defines me,” Lydia snarled.

“According to what the rest of the world thinks, yes,” Stiles asserted.

“I don’t care what the rest of the world thinks; I only care about what I know,” Lydia proclaimed. “I know that, even though he pretends to just be bragging, Jackson always runs all his decisions by me first, to get _my_ opinion. I know that I wield the _real_ power in this household, even if it is through manipulation. And I know that the Crown Princess writes to _me_ for advice and counsel.”

“And she should, because you’re brilliant!” Stiles declared passionately, rising to his feet. “Jackson shouldn’t just get you opinion on matters; you should be running Whittemore Manor yourself, officially out in the open. You shouldn’t just give written counsel to the Crown Princess; you should be standing beside her, as her chief advisor.”

“Well, I have to live in reality, Stiles,” Lydia huffed. “We can’t all run around in the woods, pretending that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I’m making the best of a bad situation and helping out where I can…Besides, Jackson does please me, most of the time. He’s particularly useful, when I go into heat.”

The image of Jackson and Lydia having sex flashed through his mind, causing him to grimace in disgust. Despite herself, Lydia laughed.

“Give me the letter and I’ll see to it that the Hale sisters get it,” Lydia sighed. “And I suppose I’m to collect response from them as well?”

“If you can,” Stiles nodded.

“Very well.”

“Thank you, Lyds,” Stiles said softly, handing her the letter and brushing his lips against the top of her head. “And be careful. If people really do think Derek is the Red Hood—or at least working with me—then getting caught with this could land you in serious trouble.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I always am.”

“It’s getting late,” he observed. “I should head back, before your mate comes looking for you.”

“Yes,” Lydia agreed. “And I’ll make sure to check in on your father, when I reach the Palace, as well.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Stiles thanked her.

He started walking towards the garden wall, when Lydia’s voice called out to him. “Stiles, do me a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Take it easy on Derek,” she requested. “He was raised with all the arrogant Alphas at court, but he’s not like them. He could come around to our way of thinking, but you have to give him a little room to make mistakes.”

“I’ll try,” he offered.

“That’s all I ask,” Lydia beamed.

Stiles was up and over the wall, just as he heard Jackson’s voice calling out for Lydia.

 

 

You can follow me on tumblr [here!](http://luminescentlily.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critiques are always welcome :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I'm warning you now that this chapter is just a lot of backstory but it was one of my favorites to write. Plus, I needed to add more of Friar Finstock into this story. I hope you enjoy.

 

 

Derek didn’t know what to think of his new situation, other than the fact that it made him uncomfortable. Back at Court, he and his sisters had never been treated unkindly but neither were they welcomed into the fold. They were pretty much shunned and ignored by the nobility and treated with polite indifference by the servants. For the most part, his treatment at the Red Hood’s camp had been much the same. Up until now that was.

Ever since the raid on his family’s castle, his standing among his fellow forest dwellers seemed to have increased considerably. Now, people greeted him warmly every morning and asked him to sit with them during meals. They chatted with him and eagerly sought his opinions. The children were still little terrors, but even that had become more good-natured.

The abrupt change was a little unsettling, to say the least. He’d spent so many years being ignored and avoided that he didn’t quite know how to handle this sudden reversal.

Then there was the boredom.

Even though people were treating him better, it didn’t mean there was suddenly a place for him in the camp. He was still the captive noble, with nothing better to do than sit and twiddle his thumbs all day.

He attempted to find things to occupy himself with, but it was easier said than done. Everywhere he went, he felt like he was just getting in the way. Despite himself, he’d even been reduced to reading the book of fairy tales Stiles had given him at least a dozen times; he was that bored.

On top of all that, he was fairly certain that Stiles was avoiding him again. The few times he’d seen the Omega around the camp, he’d only just manage to catch the other man’s eyes, before he would be off into the woods again. Which only made the Alpha in him want to chase and pounce on his running prey. And that just turned his mind towards all sorts of uncomfortable thoughts.

Scott certainly wasn’t helping matters either. The crooked-jawed Beta had apparently fully accepted him, as a member of their group, and now wouldn’t leave him alone. He constantly sought Derek out to sit together at meals or just to talk. Under any other circumstances, he might have welcomed the friendly interaction, if it weren’t for the fact that Scott absolutely reeked of Stiles’s scent. Objectively, he knew that the two of them were like brothers and that they only smelled so strongly of each other, because they shared a winter tent, but smelling it still made his hackles rise. Which was ridiculous, because Stiles wasn’t even _his_ Omega!

Besides which, the floppy-haired Beta was obviously smitten with the Crown Princess Allison; something that became apparent over breakfast one morning, when Scott suddenly asked, “Have you ever met her before?”

“Who?” Derek had replied in confusion, as he took a bite of scrambled eggs.

“The Angel of the Kingdom, sent to us by the Moon herself to brighten the earth,” Scott had waxed poetically.

Derek had simply raised an eyebrow at the young Beta, wondering if he had hit his head on something during his last outing.

“He means Crown Princess Allison,” Stiles had rolled his eyes. It was one of the few times in the last week that the Omega had stayed in his presence, for longer than a minute. “He’s been dying to ask you about her, ever since we brought you here.”

Scott had nodded his head vigorously and looked up at him with pleading puppy-dog eyes.

“Once or twice at Court,” he had answered simply. “We didn’t talk much.”

“How can anyone live in the same place as her and not spend every possible moment by her side?” Scott has been aghast. The love-struck young Beta had then continued to dreamily describe every detail he remembered about Princess Allison.

After that, Scott would hound him for every bit of information he could remember about the Crown Princess. Questions like “Did she still smell of lilacs and cream the last time you saw here?” or “Do her eyes still sparkle like stars, when she smiles?” greeted him every morning. He would have been annoyed at it, but it was hard to stay mad at Scott.

That morning he managed to escape the persistent Beta—after a meager twenty questions—only to be cornered by Erica.

“So Hale,” the swordswoman addressed him. “You healed enough for some real sword practice?’

His wounds had long since healed and he jumped at the chance for some real practice. He hadn’t even really held his sword in weeks and was excited at the prospect for a little exercise, even if it was just against a Beta.

“Let me just grab my sword,” he replied.

“Don’t bother,” Erica waved him off. “We’ll use practice swords, until we have each other’s measure. Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt on accident.”

The way she said it implied that she didn’t think she was the one who would be injured. She was pretty cocky for a Beta, but he figured she’d learn her lesson soon enough. But he did recognizing the wisdom in using practice swords, so he nodded and let her lead the way.

The only spot with enough clear space for them to practice was the archery field, on the other side of the camp. A little over an inch of powdery snow covered the ground, but not enough to hinder their movements. And the Nemeton also gave them a little privacy from the rest of the camp.

Breathing a little hot air on his hands to warm them up, he quickly preformed a few stretches to loosen his muscles up. It was cold and he still didn’t have any proper winter clothes—something he would have to ask Stiles or, more likely, Boyd about—but the exercise would soon warm him up.

Before he was even halfway prepared, Erica tossed him a wooden practice sword and then charged. She certainly wasn’t the most elegant fighter he’d ever seen, but she was definitely the most vicious. Coming at him with harsh swipes and cuts, she didn’t give him so much as an inch to maneuver. He was forced to keep retreating back, until his feet stumbled over one of the Nemeton’s massive roots, and he went sprawling onto his back.

“Aren’t you glad we decided to use practice swords?” Erica smirked in triumph, with the blunt point of her sword at his throat.

Humiliation swept through him and he felt his eyes flash Alpha red. He hadn’t been beaten that quickly, since he was a child, and he’d never been knocked on his ass like that by anyone other than his older sister Laura, who was also an Alpha.

“Not as glad as I would have been, if you had warned me that we were ignoring the rules of combat,” he accused, the hint of a growl in his voice.

“That’s because there are no ‘rules,’ when it comes to combat,” Erica countered. “It’s kill or be killed. Anything else is just playing pretend.” Then she offered him a hand up. “Understand?”

“Perfectly,” he replied, accepting her hand, only for her to let go when he was halfway up, dropping him back on his butt.

“Oh, I’m definitely going to have fun with you,” Erica laughed and walked back toward the middle of the training field.

The rest of the morning continued on in that vein, with Derek getting knocked off his feet more times than he would care to admit. Erica didn’t fight by any of the rules or structured forms that had been drilled into his head, since childhood. She pulled every low blow and dirty trick in the book and a few that she probably invented herself.

By the time they stopped for a break, they were both sweating and breathing heavily. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had that much of a challenge on a practice field, and from a Beta no less.

“May I ask you something?” Derek inquired, after taking a drink of a wineskin, she’d tossed him.

“Go ahead,” she responded.

“Why aren’t you a knight?”

“What?” she burst out laughing.

“I’m serious,” he huffed. “With your skills, you could easily be the pride of any Lord’s garrison.”

“And follow some old windbag’s order,” Erica snorted. “No thank you.”

“You obey the Red Hood’s orders,” he observed.

“Is there a question in that?” she challenged.

“I just don’t understand how you could despise the idea of serving a noble, yet you gladly obey an Omega,” he questioned.

“You followed his orders readily enough the other night,” she pointed out.

“That’s an entirely different matter,” he snapped, defensively.

“Really,” she arched and eyebrow at him.

“I’m a prisoner,” he stated.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she smirked. “All I know is that Alpha, Beta, or Omega, Stiles is the smartest person I’ve ever met—though I’ll gut you, if you ever tell him I said that. He’s got good ideas that work—most of the time—and he helps a lot of people. And that’s good enough for me.”

“Is that why you joined him in the first place?” he inquired.

“Not even close,” she laughed. “Believe it or not, but I’m the only genuine actual in this entire camp.”

Given how she fought, he didn’t have any trouble believing it.

“Back in the early days, when the rumors of the Red Hood were first starting to surface, I was a genuine highway robber, scourge of the King’s Road, etc,” she announced proudly. “You might have even seen a few of my wanted posters before.”

Derek couldn’t say for sure, he’d never made much of a study of wanted posters.

“One day, I saw this posh looking carriage coming down my stretch of road, the nobles inside loaded down with all sorts of pretty, sparkly things,” she elaborated. “Easy pickings for me and my ex-partner, Matt. Turned out, I wasn’t the only one to think so.”

“Stiles and the others were already lying in wait,” he surmised.

“Only Scott and Isaac were with him then, but yeah,” Erica corrected. “Before I could make my move, those three had them surrounded and handing over all their jewels.”

“So, you interrupted the robbery?”

“Not at all,” she explained. “I heard a few whispers about this new Red Hood character. Didn’t think much of him then. My partner and I figured we’d let these flashy clowns do the heavy lifting and then take the jewels off them afterwards. We figured it was the least we could do, given that they were poaching on our turf.”

“I’m guessing that’s not what happened.”

“Nope,” she grinned. “Stiles noticed us sneaking up of them and they took off into the woods. The utter dumbass that I was, I followed them. I thought they’d stick just inside the tree-line, like everyone else. I knew the woods pretty well, but nowhere near as well as Stiles. Before I realized it, he disappeared right in front of me and I was lost. I would have wandered around for days, before starving to death, but Stiles came back for me. He kept his distance, but he managed to lead me back to the main road. He even gave me a pair of pearl earrings for my trouble.”

“What happened to your partner?”

“Matt!” she sneered. “That coward ditched me, as soon as I was out of sight. When I finally got back to our hideout by the river, I saw that he’d taken everything and run off.”

“So, you decided to join Stiles instead?”

“Not even close,” she rolled her eyes. “I went after Matt, to get my half of our loot back. While looking for him, I was picked up by constables—not for my actual crimes—but because the Queen was pressing every able-bodied Beta into service.”

Derek remembered those days. King Christopher was reporting heavy losses in the Holy Lands, so Queen Victoria had decided to send reinforcements. Only people weren’t as anxious to sign as they had been, when the Crusade was first announced. So, the Queen had ordered her men to round up people off the streets and forcefully conscript them. Riots and protests had finally put a stop to that, but not before several boatloads of people had already been shipped off.

“How did you get away?”

“Stiles, of course,” she retorted. “He freed a couple dozen people from the conscription camps and brought them back here; myself included. Though it wasn’t like it is now. It was pretty rough living, in the beginning, but it was safe.”

“So, you decided to stay with the rest,” he assumed, taking another sip from the wineskin.

“Not a first,” she shook her head. “Originally, I was going to wait for Stiles and the others to lower their guard and then run off with all their loot.”

That comment made him choke a little, much to Erica’s amusement.

“What changed you mind,” he ask, once his coughing fit had subsided.

“I’m still not sure,” she admitted, her eyes looked off into the distance and a soft expression graced her features. “There’s just something about Stiles and the way things are here. They’re different. Everyone pitches in and works together. Nobody tries to rule over anyone else. It’s how the rest of the world should be and probably would be, if it weren’t for all the assholes.”

Shaking off her reverie, she gave him grin, “I’ve been with the group ever since and I’ll probably be her for a while longer. At least, until something better comes along.”

From the way she said it, he doubted she would think anything else could be better and he was hard pressed to disagree.

Feeling uncomfortable and not wanting to dwell on why, he decided to change the subject. “What happened to you ex-partner? Did you ever catch up with him and get you half back?”

“No,” she spat. “That rat dodged the Queen by joining up with Lady Katherine’s guard.”

“Sounds about right,” he muttered, feeling the familiar twinge of anger, pain, and guilt whenever Lady Katherine was mentioned.

“Now, ready for the next round?” Erica challenged.

They spent the rest of the morning training, Derek losing just as often as he won. He tried to tell himself it was because he was out of practice and still recovering from his wounds, but he couldn’t deny Erica was skilled. If he hadn’t been an Alpha, he would have been covered in bruises, by the time they finally broke for lunch.

While they ate, Derek was mobbed by a group of people and hoards of small children wanting to hear—yet again—about how they broke into his family’s castle. At first he had been a little hesitant. He planned on one day reclaiming his home, along with his sisters, and didn’t want the whole kingdom to know that weakness in its defenses. It was bad enough that the most famous thief and his crew knew about it. But after the first few times he told a heavily edited version of the story, he realized that they were more interested in how well he told the story and how many jokes he could tell at Sir Harris’s expense, than in any actual specifics.

Halfway through the story, he noticed Stiles, up in the branches of the Nemeton. He tried to gesture for the Omega to come ~~save him~~ join them. After all, the Omega was always great with words—despite Omegas normally being known for their silence. But Stiles just laughed at him and headed off somewhere. He tried not to dwell on how disappointed that made him.

After lunch, he didn’t have time to ponder what he would do with the rest of his day, because Boyd approached him with an offer. The mountain of a man needed help bringing heavy supplies to a village just west of the forest.

“Normally I wouldn’t have a problem carrying the wagon myself, but the route goes over a river and the bridge we use is too narrow,” Boyd explained.

For the second time, Derek wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or insulted that people only thought of him in regards to his Alpha strength, but he shrugs it off. Going out and walking through the woods sounded like a great idea to him.

“You aren’t going to put a sack over my head again, are you?” Derek questioned.

“Nah, we trust you,” Boyd shrugged. “Besides, Stiles just left to deliver your letter. Wouldn’t be very honorable of you, if you decided to break your word now.”

That was something Derek hadn’t know. He’d given his letter to Stiles yesterday and though he would have kept it for a few days to look it over for hidden codes and such. Not that Derek knew how to write any hidden codes, at least, not any that weren’t so childishly simple any half-literate person could have spotted.

“So, I should have my sisters’ response, when he comes back,” Derek hedged.

“Not that fast,” Boyd shook his head. “It’s not like he can just waltz into the Palace and give it to your sisters. He just went to hand the letter off to one of our Palace contacts, probably one of the servants that occasionally pass us information. They’ll have to wait for the right time to sneak it to your sisters. Then, whoever it is, will have to wait for another opportunity to collect their response and find a way to sneak back out of the Palace with it. It might take a little while.”

“I suppose,” he agreed a bit dejectedly.

Together, the two of them loaded up a wagon full of grain, salted meat, and a few large jars of fruit jellies. Once that was done, they headed out, pulling the wagon themselves, in place of horses.

_Oh, if the nobles at court could see me now._

Boyd told him that the trip would take a little longer than normal, because the only path that the wagon could fit on was the long way around, but Derek didn’t mind taking the scenic route.

Even taking the longer route, they still made great time. Certainly it was much faster than most of the day trips he’d been on with the Court. Though that probably had something to do with not being weighed down with baggage carts and dozens of servants. Soon enough they reached the narrowest part of the river where a simple [clapper bridge](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8b/Tarr_Steps_-_medieval_clapper_bridge_and_ford_-_geograph.org.uk_-_53970.jpg), large enough for one person to cross at a time, was built.

Even though the distance wasn’t that far, it was still tricky to carry everything across. The stones of the bridge were naturally smooth and a little slippery. Carrying the supplies wasn’t that big of a task, but getting the wagon across was. They had to work together to lift it up and then carefully make their way across, while making sure they didn’t slip or knock each other over the edge. Eventually they managed to accomplish it, without falling in and stopped for a minute to rest.

“Erica said she told you how she joined,” Boyd stated without preamble. “Said you don’t get why we follow Stiles, because he’s an Omega.”

“It’s not because he’s an Omega,” Derek denied. “It’s because…”

It was then that he realized that it was because Stiles was an Omega. Omegas just weren’t leaders. They were the ones that had babies and did…whatever else Omegas did—he didn’t know. But they weren’t the type of people who went out and did things, like Stiles does. They were gentle and delicate. They needed to be sheltered and protected. Didn’t they?

_Stiles was just different. He’s not like any Omega I’ve ever heard of._

“Mmhmm,” Boyd gave him an unimpressed look.

“Well, why _do you_ follow him?” Derek asked.

“Because he’s smart,” Boyd answered simply. “And because, the Queen is pillaging her own country and the only person—Alpha, Beta, or Omega—who is doing anything about it, is Stiles.”

“And let me guess,” Derek replied. “You found that out because you tried to do something and Stiles saved you.”

“No,” Boyd smiled. “I beat his skinny butt and knocked him off that bridge we just crossed.”

Derek gave him a skeptical look, not because he didn’t believe Boyd could physically beat Stiles, but because it didn’t make sense that Stiles would let Boyd join his group, after something like that.

“It was around the second time the Queen raised taxes and after the conscription riots,” Boyd began his story. “Rumors about the Red Hood were everywhere, but it was always in some other village or town. When I first hear about what he was doing, I wanted to join him, but my mother convinced me to stay. ‘He may be a hero, but the Red Hood is still an outlaw’ she said ‘And, when they finally catch him, he’ll hang just like any other criminal.’

“So, I stayed and tried to help out where I could. Then, one day, the Queen’s own soldiers rode into town with the tax collectors and started dragging folks right out of their homes. When I saw that, something in me just snapped. I grabbed my bo-staff and started knocking the shit out of them. After that, I didn’t have a choice. It was either go join up with the Red Hood or have my head end up on a pike.”

“How’d you find him?”

“We found each other,” Boyd chuckled. “I traveled through a few towns, following rumors, until someone told me about this trail into the forest. I had just reached this very bridge, when I saw some scrawny little guy about to get on at the other end.”

“Stiles”

“That’s right,” Boyd confirmed. “Though, to be fair, he hadn’t been wearing his red cloak at the time. Now, I had already been walking for days, always tried and hungry. And I was in a rush to find the Red Hood, so I started down the bridge, expecting the other guy to back down. Only, when I got to the middle of the bridge Stiles was right there and he wasn’t moving. He even started arguing that he was on the bridge first, so he had the right of way.”

“That sounds like Stiles,” Derek gave a laugh.

“Of course, it was at this point that I realized he was an Omega,” Boyd continued. “I told him to run home to his Alpha. You can imagine how well he took that.”

“I can,” Derek nodded.

“He challenged me to a fight,” Boyd laughed. “I said no, not wanting to mess with some run-away Omega and end up having to deal with whatever pissed off Alpha came looking for him, on top of everything else. So, I told him that I would fight him, only he didn’t have a bo-staff or any swords laying around. Stiles then dashes back the way he came and into the woods. I’m thinking I’d called his bluff and the little Omega had run away scared, only to have him reappear a few seconds later with a fairly long, thin stick in his hands.

“By that point, I was starting to get annoyed with him. I was on a mission and this little runt was in my way. So, I figured I could knock him down quick and get this farce over with, only the little runt was too fast for me. He kept dodging all my blows and landing plenty of his own—a few of them even hurt.”

“I thought you said you beat him?” Derek recalled.

“I did,” Boyd stated. “But not by much. A combination of a wet bridge and a clumsy Stiles let me land in a few good hits that had him tumbling into the water. I freaked out, thinking I’d just drowned him, only to find out a few seconds later that Stiles can swim like a fish. I hauled him back up onto the bridge and the smart-mouth had the nerve to demand a rematch.

“Completely fed up with him, I carried him with me across the bridge and dumped him on the ground. He started yelling about how I was a cheat. Wanting to scare him a little, I told him that I was an outlaw going to join the Red Hood. All of the sudden he changed his tune and was all smiles. He even offered to show me the way and to personally introduce him to the Red Hood.”

“I’ll bet,” Derek rolled his eyes.

“I was skeptical,” Boyd remembered. “But I could tell he wasn’t lying, so I followed him. He brought me back to camp and started introducing me to people, though none of them were the Red Hood. Again, I started getting annoyed, thinking this little Omega was messing with me and had tricked me into going to some other outlaw camp, where they’d rob me. I demanded to speak with the Red Hood and everyone started laughing.

“That’s when Scott came up and handed Stiles his cloak. The little shit had the nerve to even do a little bow, once he put it on. I couldn’t believe it. There I was, thinking the Red Hood would be some Alpha, or at least a Beta, as big as I am, and it turned out to be an Omega. I was stunned. Then he invited me to sit down and eat, while he explained. After that, things just kind of fell into place.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you follow his orders,” Derek

“You weren’t listening,” Boyd. “I insulted him, hit him, nearly drown him, and he still accepted me into his camp and his group. And, other than calling me Little Boyd every now and then, he never treats me any worse than any of the other because of what happened, when we first met. Alpha, Beta, or Omega, that is impressive. Besides, he has nerve and I can respect that. I can’t really explain it any better than that.”

Boyd let Derek think on that for a few minutes, while he started loading up the wagon again. They didn’t talk much for the rest of the way, until they reached the village. Once they arrived, things were pretty hectic. A few younger kids spotted them about a quarter mile from the village and, by the time they were entering the center of town, a huge crowd of cheering people had assembled.

The reaction they got was overwhelming. Derek looked around amazed at the delight and gratitude on their faces and felt his heart swell. Before he could say so much as a word to Boyd, a mug of ale was thrust into his hand and he was surrounded by people thanking him and asking him to give their thanks to the Red Hood. Swept up in their emotions, he couldn’t hold back his smile and did his best to answer some of the numerous questions he was bombarded with.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Boyd speaking with an authoritative looking man—the village headman, if Derek had to guess. Catching his eyes, Boyd just smiled and motioned for him to keep talking with the people. By the time they finally left—despite several offers for them to spend the night, Derek was in awe of what he’d just experience.

“It’s kind of a lot, the first time,” Boyd nudged him, as they entered the forest.

“It was incredible,” Derek agreed. “I knew they would be grateful for what you guys do, but that was just…”

“Well, we are saving them from starving to death,” Boyd laughed.

“I’ll bet Stiles loves the attention, when he goes on these trips,” Derek guessed.

At that Boyd became solemn and shook his head sadly. “Stiles never goes to the villages.”

“Why not,” Derek asked in puzzlement. Then it hit him. “Because they’d find out he was an Omega.”

_He does all this and never gets any true recognition._

After that, the trip is mostly quiet, until they were almost at the camp.

“It’s a good think you and the others are doing,” Derek spoke softly. “You’re helping so many people. It’s truly amazing.”

“You helped quite a bit, as well,” Boyd reminded him.

But it didn’t feel the same to Derek.

That night, after dinner, everyone—minus Stiles, who still hadn’t returned—gathered around a large fire, while Isaac took out a lute to play. He watched Isaac fiddle with the strings and gently caress the side of the instrument, like a lover. Once Isaac was satisfied, he began strumming a familiar tune. Derek watched Isaac’s fingers danced across the strings with mores skill than anyone he had ever heard. Even the Palace musicians couldn’t hold a candle to Isaac’s playing.

The song he played was a well-known ballad, but the words he sang were different. Isaac had transformed the old story about a wicked sorcerer and an Alpha Knight into a tale of the Red Hood and his heroic deeds. He had apparently sung it before, because quite a few other started singing along. A few of the children even got up and started preforming a pantomime to match, much to everyone’s amusement.

Derek listened to Isaac played a few songs like that, until the Beta took a quick break to rest his voice. It was at that time, that Friar Finstock decided to strike up a conversation with him.

“I can’t tell you how nice it is to have a warm place to sleep, when the snows come,” the bizarre Friar informed him. “The last place I wintered wasn’t nearly as accommodating. Cold as Queen Victoria’s heart, it was. I lost my left testicle to the frost. Now, I know what you’re thinking, ‘what does a man of the cloth even need with testicles?’”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking at all,” Derek frowned, wondering what went on in this strange man’s head.

“No one was thinking that,” Boyd chimed in.

“Well it’s the principle of the matter,” the Friar continued right on, as if no one had said anything. “After all, God made us in his image and he wants us to stay that way. Except for tattoos! The Good Lord has no qualms with the inking of our skins. I should know I’ve got a few of them myself.” The Friar started lifting up his robe. “There’s a real nice one of a—”

“Friar NO!”

“Not again!”

“Please no!”

Several people shouted out and covered their eyes.

Derek debated whether or not he should get up and move away from this obviously unstable man, when the Friar put a hand on his shoulder.

“So, I hear that you’ve been asking around about how we all joined this crazy band,” Friar Finstock announced. “I bet you’re just dying to hear how I came to be here.”

“Actually, I—”

“I was on a religious pilgrimage, at the behest of my order,” the Friar pushed right on, ignoring Derek again.

“More like he was kicked out for drinking all the sacramental wine,” Erica snorted.

“I came across a loudmouthed, young scoundrel in a red cloak and this other one down by the river,” the Friar pointed his thumb at Scott. “Where they had the audacity to demands that I carry them across, so that they wouldn’t get their dainty feet wet.”

“We only asked, if he knew the best place to cross,” Scott protested.

“Being the gentle shepherd of God that I am, I graciously agreed to ferry them across.”

“He picked us up, without a word of warning, threw us over each shoulder, like a couple of sacks of wheat, and dropped us halfway across!” Scott corrected.

“Then I thought I should test the goodness of their hearts and asked the Red Hood to carry me back across the river,” the Friar intoned.

“He jumped on Stiles’s back, while I was choking out half the river, put a knife to Stiles throat, and dug his heels into his side like he was a horse,” Scott informed them.

“When we reached the shore, that little cur challenged me to trial by combat,” the Friar barked.

“Stiles threw him off and we both ran like hell,” Scott amended.

“We fought to a draw, and afterwards he offered me a place among his men,” the Friar smiled magnanimous. “The rest is history.”

“He’s crazy, but canny,” Scott admitted. “He managed to track us through the woods and followed us back here,” Scott shrugged. “We’ve been trying to get rid of him ever since.”

Throughout the entire tale, both their heart rates had remained perfectly steady. It either meant that Friar Finstock was the greatest liar he’d ever met or he truly did believe his version of events. Frankly, Derek wasn’t sure which prospect worried him the most.

After that, several people started sharing their own stories of how they ended up at the camp. Several of them were like Boyd’s, people who wanted to help. But most were just people who were scared and went looking for someplace that was safe. About halfway through the story telling, the Friar got up and wandered off; no longer interested, now that he wasn’t the center of attention.

“Of course, I’ve been with Stiles since the very beginning,” Scott bragged.

“What about you, Isaac,” Derek inquired.

The curly-haired Beta had been noticeably quiet, while everyone else told their stories and he was curious why. Though Derek quickly wished he’d kept his mouth shut, when he saw how the younger man tensed up and at the question.

Things were awkwardly silent for a few moments, before Scott jumped in to change the subject.

“It’s getting late,” Scott observed. “How about we have one more song, before we all go off to bed.”

There were a few whines and complaints from the children, but all the parents agreed. Isaac took a few minutes to adjust his lute again, before he began playing. The song he played was a little darker sounding that the others and it was like nothing Derek had ever heard before. He wondered if it might be an original composition.

Even though the music was quite sophisticated, the story was rather childish. It was all about an evil dragon, with a magical singing harp, and a daring young thief who comes and steals it away. The story was rather predictable, but there was something in the sound of Isaac voice or the furtive looks he sent Derek’s way that gave him an uneasy feeling.

When he went to bed that night, Derek fell into an uneasy sleep and dreamt of Stiles fighting a dragon to rescue a magical signing harp that seemed to resemble Isaac’s face.

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critiques are always welcome :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, it's been forever since I've updated this story.
> 
> I recently got back from a week long vacation to find that two of my coworkers had quit and that I had been promoted to a new position at work. The training and new hours have made it very difficult to work on my stories. Things have calmed down a little, now that I'm used to my new responsibilities, but I still don't have as much down time to write that I used to.
> 
> I will still continue to work on my stories, but I can't promise to have new chapters out as regularly as I used to. However, I promise I will try my best :)

 

 

Two weeks had passed, since Stiles gave Derek’s letter to Lydia. An unexpectedly vicious snow storm had hit during the First Snow Celebration, trapping most of the nobility at the Royal Palace for an extended period of time. Which also meant that he wouldn’t be able to get Derek’s return letter from Lydia, at least until the snows cleared. So far Derek hadn’t voiced any complaints, but Stiles was still on edge about it.

He told himself that he just didn’t want Derek to get impatient and try something stupid, but the truth was, he didn’t want Derek to think he wasn’t a man of his word. It shouldn’t matter to him what his prisoner thought of him, but it did. And it annoyed him to no end just how much it bothered him.

But not enough to try and do something stupid to fix the situation. Despite what Erica might say, even he wasn’t idiotic enough to try and sneak into the Royal Palace. Especially not when everything for miles around the castle was covered in a deep layer of snow that would make anyone approaching stand out like a sore thumb. Not even the most inept and half-blind sentry would miss that.

For now, there was nothing to do but wait and see.

He hated waiting.

Winter was his least favorite time of year for just this reason. All the winter supplies were either already delivered or well on their way to villages in need, thanks to the network he and Lydia had set up. That meant the Red Hood was no longer needed, at least, not until the snows melted and the tax collectors came around again. Until then, there was nothing for him to do but sit around all day. Back when he lived at the Palace, he had been able to visit the library or help run errands for the other servants. Here he had to find other ways to occupy his time.

For the past week, his mind had been kept busy with the curious figures in the account books he’d stolen from all the tax thefts. Originally, he only looked through them to get a better idea of which parts of the country were being taxed the hardest (and which Lords were being the greediest) but, the more he studied them, the more puzzling things became.

Opening one of the books to where he’d left off yesterday, he began inspecting the neatly written columns of numbers and dates. On a piece of foolscap, he made his own notes and added up a few of the sums himself, then compare it against the other account books and his own reports from allies in those areas. The longer he worked, the more unsettled he became.

At first glance, everything looked normal but, on closer inspection, the numbers just didn’t add up. According to these books, people who he knew personally had been marked down as unable to pay their taxes, even though Stiles was certain that they had (only by the skin of their teeth). The money they had paid apparently disappearing into thin air.

Then there was the lists of confiscated properties, all precisely dated, showing that several farms and mills had been foreclosed on, even before the tax collectors had begun to make their rounds to collect the actual taxes. As if the scribe had simply assumed that they wouldn’t be able to pay and put their property on the list to be seized by the crown ahead of time. It could have been a simple mistake on the scribe’s part, but he couldn’t imagine how that level of incompetence could last so long without being noticed.

His suspicions were further roused when he pulled out a map of the kingdom and saw a visual representation of where most of these inaccuracies were taking place. The Kingdom of Beacon was fairly isolated from all its neighbors by the ocean to the west and mountains to the east. Naturally, the larger cities and more populated areas were near the sea ports in the western part of the country.

It was the eastern part of the country that held most of the forests and farmland of the kingdom, so it made a twisted sort of sense that the Queen would squeeze them the tightest for tax revenue. The eastern half of the kingdom produced the most food and raw materials, like wheat and lumber, so they could afford to pay the most.

 _Never mind that the Queen practically gave the more powerful western merchant families a free pass, when it came to paying taxes._ Stiles mused bitterly. _All they have to do is give a decent sized donation to either the church or the war effort, and they can do whatever they please._

But these eastern lands were the ones where the most of the inaccuracies were happening. Looking at the map again, Stiles made another even more startling observation. All the lands being double taxed and having property incorrectly seized were all Druid controlled lands. While the new faith of the Church had taken root in the more modern cities, out in the countryside people still held fast to the old ways. And it was in these places, where the Druids had the strongest presence, that people were being hit the hardest. The church controlled lands, on the other hand, where nearly untouched.

Queen Victoria never made any secret of her disdain of the Druids and her preference for the Church, but she had always been a fair ruler to both. Or so he had thought. Was she doing it intentionally? Taking her chance, in the King’s absence, to weaken the Druid Council. Or maybe getting rid of them altogether.

And it had to be the Queen behind it. Who else could have the authority or the reach to pull off something like this? Tax collectors answered to the Queen and the Treasury alone. Theoretically it was possible to bribe one or two tax collectors, but it would have to be a considerable amount for someone to risk the Queen’s wrath.

“But overtaxing and snatching up people’s property would only make the people hate the Queen even more,” Stiles thought aloud. “Unless she’s trying to make the people resent the Druids for not protecting them. Or maybe she’s trying to seize enough land and property to place a few of her own cronies in positions of power there.”

If his sums were correct, then the Queen was skimming even more gold than all the loot he’d stolen combined. It was more than enough to keep King Christopher and his soldiers in armor and supplies for the length of his campaign. Yet people were always hearing how they had to give more because there was never enough to send to their King and Princess in the Holy Lands.

“How many farms or mills have been confiscated and families tossed out into the cold because of this?” Stiles fumed. “And where is all that money going? That’s the real question, because it certainly isn’t going to King Christopher.”

Now more than ever, he cursed that stupid snow storm for trapping the nobles at the Palace. He needed more information and to show Lydia what he’d found. She would be able to find out more, from her connections in the Court. Knowing that there was nothing more he could do until he spoke with Lydia, Stiles carefully put away the account books and all his notes. Then went to find something else to occupy him.

Strolling through the camp, he found himself drawn to the Nemeton. Hopping up onto one of the lower branches, he walked along it to the base, only nearly losing his balance a handful of times. Near the base of the trunk was a decent sized hollow. Reaching inside, he pulled out a cloth wrapped bundle. It was his leather crafting kit and his current project.

When he wasn’t out robbing foolish nobles or unraveling complicated money laundering schemes, Stiles enjoyed leather crafting. Shaping and sewing leather into useful items had been one of the few occupations he had been allowed at the Omega Convent and he had excelled at it. His work was the one thing the sour-faced old Abbess hadn’t been able to scold him about. Though she nearly had an apoplectic fit, when Stiles suggested that he could forgo getting married and simply use his skills to set up a shop and provide for himself. Needless to say, she had not been amused by nor supportive of his idea.

Once Stiles had established his camp, he started working on his leather crafts again. It gave him something to do in the winter months and he even made a small profit from the sale of some of his work. Back at the convent he had been restricted to making embossed prayer book covers and small pouches but he had branched out since then. Though he still made the occasional belt pouch or leather journal, as gifts to send home to his father.

His current endeavor was a new arm bracer that he was particularly proud of. It was made of a buttery soft, red leather that matched his red cloak perfectly. Plopping down on the branch, he continued to put the finishing touches on it. And, if he just happened to sitting in such a way that gave him a perfect view of Derek and Erica practicing their sword work, that was just a happy coincidence.

Ever since Erica had first invited Derek to practice with her, the two of them had come out here every day, no matter how much snow was on the ground. They had even begun to attract a crowd of admirers. Nearly all the children in the camp were there, as well as a good number of the adults. Stiles watched them too, ~~every day~~ occasionally. Though he always watched from up in the branches of the Nemeton.

Derek’s skill with the sword was undeniable and he only seemed to improve, with Erica to practice against. The Alpha no longer fell for most of Erica’s dirty tricks. Though she still surprised him every once in a while. Erica was improving considerably, as well. She would never have the strength and naturally fluid grace of an Alpha but, thanks to some tips from Derek, her movements were becoming more refined and precise.

She had been a formidable fighter before but now he truly pitied any fool stupid enough to challenge her.

They were still using wooden practice swords against each other, but he noticed that Derek was also holding his actual sword in his other hand for some reason. As he watched, Derek preformed a particularly clever move, holding his sheathed sword, as a kind of counter balance, to execute a complex maneuver that knocked Erica on her ass.

Their audients erupted in cheers, urging Derek to take a bow. Instead, the stoic Alpha set his swords down and offered Erica a hand up, like a true gentleman would. Unfortunately for him, Erica was no Lady. True to her nature, she took his hand and used it to pull an unsuspecting Derek down, face first into the snow, prompting a roar of laughter from the crowd.

With an adorable scowl etched on his face, Derek stood back up and tried to collect what was left of his dignity, which only made him look all the more comical. The Alpha really should have known better by now. Huffing indignantly, Derek marched back to where he’d dropped his swords and retrieved them.

Stiles knew an ancestral sword when he saw one and he would bet good money that the sword Derek carried was a Hale Family heirloom. The sword itself was a thing of beauty, elegantly crafted of the finest quality steel. The ratty sheath he carried it in, however, was not. It was old and falling apart, evidently due to being improperly stored and a lack of care.

Before he even realized it, Stiles was already imagining a new one that he could make for the Alpha. He had some beautiful black dyed leather he’d been saving for something special and he could practically see the intricate design of stylized wolves and triskele designs that he could press into the leather.

 _Why not._ Stiles shrugged.

It would give him something to do, now that his bracer was almost finished. Plus, he’d never made a swords sheath before and it would be a challenge. The fact that it might impress and endear him to the Alpha was simply an added benefit.

He put the last touches on his bracer and then slipped it on and laced it up. The measurements had been perfect and it fit him like a second skin. Twisting his arm back and forth, he admired his handiwork. The pale winter sunlight nicely highlighted a subtle design of the districted read feathered bird, whose feathers Stiles used to fletch his arrows. It looked fantastic and it would protect his arm from his bow string snapping back.

“Might as well put it to the test,” Stiles rationalized.

After all, it was the job of any good craftsman to test their products. It had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to show off his archery skills to a certain Alpha. Nope. Not at all.

Waiting until everyone’s attention was taken by the next round of sparring, he shimmied down the tree in a less than graceful manner and went to grab his bow. When he arrived back at the practice field, Derek and Erica were still locked in combat. Feet crunching in the snow, as he walked around to the archery targets, he decided to take his time warming up.

Starting off slowly, he simply shot at the various stationary targets from an average distance. Once he’d hit each one—dead center every time, of course—he started getting a little fancier. He shot multiple arrows at the same time and started shooting simple designs in the targets. A little while later, he felt eyes on him and realized that a good portion of Derek and Erica’s audience had migrated over to watch him. After that, he started in on some of the trick shots. Shooting behind his back, with his eyes closed, and the ever popular splitting the arrow shot, though he wasn’t that fond of that last one. Arrows were a precious commodity, out in the woods, and he didn’t like wasting them.

He finished with a particularly tricky shot, shooting a swinging target hanging on a rope from a tree branch. Bowing dramatically for the enthusiastic applause, he noticed that Erica and Derek were also taking a break and had come over to watch him.

“Not too shabby boss,” Erica complimented.

“Says the woman who can’t shoot an arrow to save her life,” Stiles shot back.

“Say the guy who can’t lift a sword to save his life,” Erica countered, tossing him a wineskin.

“You’re as good as any of the King’s archers,” Derek acknowledged, coming to stand next to him.

He knew Derek meant it as a compliment, but it always rubbed him the wrong way someone said his skills were ‘as good as,’ when clearly, he was the best.

“Pff, the King’s archers wish they had even half my skill,” Stiles scoffed.

Noticing the slightly hurt look on Derek’s face, Stiles took a wineskin someone offered him and took a drink to stop from saying anything else.

“That’s a beautiful bracer,” Derek commented.

“Thanks you,” Stiles beamed with pride for all of two seconds, before Derek opened his mouth again.

“Which noble did you steal it from?”

Stiles scowled. Of course Derek would think he stole it. After all, most nobles thought that people only became thieves because they didn’t have the skills for any other kind of work. The worst part was that Derek wasn’t even being condescending about it. He was just genuinely curious as to where it came from.

“I made it,” Stiles replied tersely. “After all, leather crafting is one of the few crafts that poor, delicate Omegas, like myself, are suited for.”

Derek at least had the decency to look embarrassed for his mistake. “I meant no—”

“Stiles is great with leather work,” one of the children chimed in, cutting Derek off.

“Yeah, he makes belts and even some toys for us,” another child added.

If Stiles didn’t know better, he would have sworn that Derek was blushing as he spoke again, “I just thought, with your skill at archery—”

“That I would have no other skills,” Stiles teased. “Well, I’m a man of _many_ hidden talents,”

“I’m beginning to realize that,” Derek nodded and focused his intense gaze at him.

Now it was Stiles’s turn to blush.

“So Hale, you interested in an archery lesson or are you smart enough to realize that you’ll never achieve my level of amazing talent?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind the archery lesson,” Derek began, only to have one of the older children poke him in the side. “But I wanted to speak with you on another topic.”

“If this is about the letter from your sis—”

“It’s not,” Derek assured in a gruff manner. “I understand about the blizzard and how difficult it is to sneak messages to my sisters, even under normal circumstances.”

Giving him a hard look, he then shifted his attention to the anxious looking children gathered around Derek.

“Some of the older children—and even some of the others in the camp—have expressed an interest in having Erica and I teach them to use a sword,” Derek explained. “As the leader of this camp, I would like your approval to train them in the basics.”

Stiles shouldn’t have been surprised at that news. Given how popular it had become to watch Erica and Derek spar, it was only a matter of time before others became interested in doing it themselves. But neither of them were really the patient, teaching type, so the kids must have been hounding them pretty hard to get them to agree to lessons.

No, the thing that really threw him for a loop was the fact that Derek—an Alpha—was evidently asking for his—Stiles, an Omega’s—permission. Normally Alphas just demanded something and most of the time they got it. Part of him was skeptical at Derek’s clear acknowledgement of his authority. Erica wouldn’t have bothered to ask him first and she was only a Beta. He couldn’t imagine that Derek would seriously need his permission before doing anything. But maybe some of the other had suggested he ask first. Or, maybe Derek thought he would get mad, if he didn’t ask, and not give him the letter from his sisters.

That seemed more likely to Stiles. It also made sense as to why he was asking now, in front of everyone. If Stiles said no—even if he had a good reason, which he didn’t—the children, and a good portion of the adults would be upset with him. It was what Stiles would have done in a similar situation.

“Of course,” Stiles agreed. “I think it’s a good idea. It’s useful and it keeps everyone busy and in shape through winter. We’ll have to get more practice swords. I’ll talk with Boyd, he’s pretty good with wood carving—”

The rest of his words were drowned out by the gleeful cheers of the gathered children. They were all talking at once, about who would be the best swordfighter among them and which moves they wanted Derek to teach them first.

“I want to learn that double sword thing you pulled on Erica!”

“I want to be able to cut a man in two with one swing. HiiiYaah!”

“I’ll be so much better than you!”

“No you won’t! I’ll knock you to the ground first!”

In all the excitement, a peculiar look crossed over Derek’s face. A strange mix of amusement and dread.

“You just figure out how much trouble this lot is going to be?” Stiles smirked.

“It’s beginning to dawn on me,” Derek replied with an uncertain look.

“Good luck,” Stiles wished. “You’ll need it.”

He began to walk away, only for Derek to call him back.

“You’re not, I mean, I thought you would…help me,” Derek half asked half pleaded.

“Oh no,” Stiles laughed. “You’re on your own with this one. I already went through this once, when I tried to teach them archery.”

Derek started to approach him, when a hoard of children began pulling and dragging him back towards the training area. Stiles watched in amusement for a few more moments, before he went searching for Boyd. He was only halfway to Boyd’s woodworking area, when Scott came barreling towards him.

“STILES!” Scott yelled in alarm. “We have a major problem!”

“Whoa, there Scotty, calm down,” Stiles urged him. “You’re going to freak people out.”

Glancing around he saw several people stop what they were doing to throw concerned looks their way. He grabbed his best friend’s arm and dragged him over to the far side of the camp, away from most of the prying eyes.

“All right now, what’s going on?”

“The Queen!” Scott hissed. “One of her spies or something. They found someone connected to our network. Someone high up. They confiscated all the supplies they were supposed to distribute and captured at least four other members.”

“Do you know where?” Stiles pressed, his mind already calculating where he could get replacement supplies from and formulating possible rescue operations for the captured people.

“No, I didn’t stick around that long. Isaac is finding out more, but that’s not the worst part,” Scott insisted.

“How is that not the worst part!?!”

“Someone talked!” Scott explained. “Someone who knew enough to point her in our direction. She’s sending an entire garrison into the woods, as soon as they can clear the road!”

Stiles felt the blood drain from his face. They were well hidden, but if the Queen sent enough men into the woods, she would eventually flush them out. Especially if she knew right where to look.

“You’re sure about this,” Stiles questioned. “There have been rumors of this before. Just stories that the Queen’s agents spread around to try and scare us.”

“Not this time,” Scott stated firmly. “Isaac and I saw the soldiers preparing their weapons and armor. I even got one of the servants at the fort to do a little recon. They managed to get a look at a map in the commander’s quarters, while bringing him food. It didn’t have an exact location, but it was definitely marked in our direction.”

“But they don’t know our exact location?” Stiles repeated. “You’re certain.”

“No one in the network knows our exact location,” Scott answered. “Even most of the people here at camp don’t know exactly where we are. That was your first rule.”

“All right, we can work with that,” Stiles nodded, his mind spinning. “We can’t move the camp, not this far into winter. But we might be able to confuse the soldiers. We need to work fast. Gather everyone together, we’re going to need everyone to make this work.”

“You’ve got a plan,” Scott observed, looking a little less panicked.

“Just the beginning of one, right now,” Stiles admitted. “But, you know me. I work best under pressure.”

With that, they split up to call everyone in camp together. It was going to take everyone in the camp to pull off the idea Stiles had in mind. If it succeeded, they might just be able to save them.

 

 

Come say hi to me on [tumblr!](http://luminescentlily.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little short and slow, but the next one should start to pick up a little.
> 
> Again, I can't say exactly when I'll have the next chapter out, but I promise it won't be as long as this one took.
> 
> Thank you to all those to stuck with this story.
> 
> Also, comments always help motivate me to write faster :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting too long, so I split it in two. The next one will have all the action :)

 

 

There was a palpable tension in the air that set Derek’s every nerve on edge. Looking around at the frightened faces, it was hard to believe that only a few moments ago they were all laughing and enjoying a pleasant afternoon. That was before Stiles had called everyone together and told them the news; the Queen’s soldiers were on their way.

A few scared looking people had thrown wary glances his way, but no one had spoken an accusation aloud. Those looks had hurt more than Derek would have thought, considering how friendly they had been before. But they hadn’t matter anyways, once Stiles explained about a member of their smuggling operation being caught and possibly tortured for information.

“We’re going to help them, aren’t we?” someone from the back of the crowd asked.

“Of course we are,” Stiles answered. “But first we have to take care of the camp. We’re of no use to anyone, if we’re all in the Queen’s dungeons ourselves.”

With that, Stiles explained his idea. Stiles’s plan was a simple one; they were going to create a false trail leading to a fake camp for the soldiers to find.

“We going to break into two groups,” Stiles elaborated. “The first group will be under Boyd’s leadership and will be in charge of making the dummy camp. You’ll find a decent clearing near enough to fit the information that the soldiers have of our whereabouts, but far enough away that we don’t risk them finding our actual camp. Now, it doesn’t have to be too fancy. They’re expecting a camp of outlaws and cutthroats, living in squalor and sin. All we’ll need are some tents, some fire pits, and a few other odds and end. Maybe we’ll even leave them a few apples, for a treat.”

There was a smattering of weak laughter, just enough to lighten the mood a little.

“But I want the fake camp to looked lived in,” Stiles continued. “Stomp the ground out well, to make it look like people are really living there for a while and leave some old rags that you don’t mind never seeing again. Not every soldier in the Queen’s Army is an idiot, so we have to make it look and feel as real as possible.”

Several people near him nodded in agreement, already planning what they could plant in this false camp to make it seem more real.

“The second group,” Stiles went on. “Will be in charge of covering our tracks and hiding any trace of our actual camp. This group will be led by myself and will comprise mostly of the children.”

There were a few protests from parents not wanting to be separated from their children during this dangerous time, but Stiles silenced them with and upraise arm.

“I’m doing this for two reasons,” Stiles informed them. “The first is because the children leave smaller tracks and have sharper eyes than most adults. They are better a catching any signs I might miss and leave fewer tracks of their own. The second—and more important—reason is because it is very likely that there will be Alphas among the soldiers coming for us. The scent of a child is weaker than that of an adult, but I don’t want to risk any of the children’s’ scents being remembered by an Alpha soldier and possibly endangering them in the future.”

That convinced most of the parents and delighted the children.

 _Simple, but it just might work._ Derek admired.

Fighting the soldiers was never an option. Not only did they lack the numbers and the training, but there was no way to fortify and defend the camp. It was in the middle of a wide open clearing, with no solid structures to retreat behind. There was just no way they could protect themselves here. If they even tried, they would be surrounded and slaughtered.

“There is also a third phase to my plan,” Stiles added. “If we have enough time, after we accomplish the first two phases, I plan to create a second false trail, leading from the dummy camp and up into the mountain passes. With any luck, they’ll believe we abandoned the fake camp and made for some secret mountain hideout.”

With that, Stiles began dividing the camp into the two groups; Boyd’s consisting mostly of the adults and Stiles’s made up of mostly children. Derek was unpleasantly surprised to find himself in Boyd’s group. He had hoped he would be with Stiles’s group, so that he could keep an eye on the Omega, in case the soldiers showed up early.

Wanting to remedy the situation, he called out to the Omega, as he was giving instructions to the children. “Stiles!”

“We’re a little busy at the moment, Hale,” Stiles gestured to all the people running around the camp preparing various things.

“Why did you put me in Boyd’s group instead of yours?” he asked tersely.

“Because you’d be more help setting up the dummy camp,” Stiles answered, rolling his eyes like it was obvious.

“I would be more helpful to you coving any tracks leading to the real camp,” Derek protested.

“Really,” Stiles snorted. “With you vast knowledge of camouflage and familiarity with the forest.”

“With my heightened sense of smell and keener eye sight,” Derek insisted. “Besides, if there are Alphas among the soldiers, do you really want them to catch my scent at the dummy camp?”

“Yes, in fact, I do want them to catch your scent there, since you’re supposed to be our prisoner,” Stiles retorted. “Or did you forget that?”

The truth was, Derek had forgotten that he was a prisoner. For the past few weeks, he’d felt more at home living with the outlaws, than he ever had at the Palace.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Derek lied through gritted teeth, unable to stop himself from stepping into Stiles’s space and looming over him. To his credit, Stiles didn’t back down, but stood up straighter and glared him right in the eye. It was a challenged that made the Alpha in him rear up with the urge put this mouthy Omega in his place, preferably underneath him.

Then Derek caught sight of the group of children watching them apprehensively. He reminded himself that Stiles—even though he was an Omega—he was the leader of the camp. If he disrespected that authority, it could seriously complicate his place in the camp. That was reason enough to—grudgingly—take a step back. For just a moment, he thought he saw something like disappointment flashed through Stiles’s eyes, but it was gone too fast for him to be sure.

 

*

 

The rest of the afternoon was spent helping to set up the dummy camp. Boyd lead the way to a small clearing not nearly far enough away from the real camp for Derek’s liking. Unfortunately, it was the best they could do, as any further away and it wouldn’t be in the general direction that the soldiers would be searching. It also helped that the trees grew close together in this area, so they didn’t have to worry about leaving tracks in the snow. A few armfuls of dead leaves would cover any real traces of them nicely.

Once they reached the clearing, everyone quickly got to work. Most of their job was done just from all of them squeezing into the small area, clearing out the snow, trampling whatever grass remained, and breaking off loose and overhanging branches. Some of the older and weaker Betas got to work pulling up the grass and collecting all the nearby twigs, which they used to build ‘cooking fires’ to show that the camp had been in use.

Boyd tasked Derek, Isaac, and Scott with assembling, taking down, and reassembling a tent in various places around the clearing, so that the holes in the ground from the tent spikes would make it look like multiple tents had been set up and taken down in a hurry. The task proved more challenging than Derek had anticipated at first, having never had to set up his own tent before. Isaac took particular delight in his ineptitude, though Scott was kind enough to patiently explain each part, as they were working.

 _Perfect. Just wait until Stiles hears about this._ Derek fretted has he viciously pounded a tent stake into the ground. _Just another example of what a useless dunce the Alpha Lordling is. The stupid Alpha doesn’t even have enough brains to put up simple tent._

“Easy there, Derek,” Scott cautioned. “You don’t want to drive the stake in too far, or we’ll have a hell of a time digging it out again.”

“Right, sorry,” Derek grunted.

Just when Derek was finally getting the hang of it, when Boyd told them they’d done enough. Getting up and looking around, he was surprised to see how dark it already was and how different the little clearing looked. It really did look like the camp had been established for a while.

“Alright everyone, that’s enough for tonight,” Boyd announced. “There isn’t much left that we can do anyways and I don’t want to risk making the trail up to the mountains this late. We can leave that for morning.”

“What about the soldiers?”

“According to our sources, they won’t be on their way, until tomorrow at the earliest,” Boyd assured. “Even if they leave at dawn, it will be midday before they get this far into the forest. Besides that, we’ve done about all that we can do here. We’ll leave the fires burning here, but other than that, it looks good.”

Anxious to return to their children and the perceived safety of their actual camp, many were more than ready to go; Derek wasn’t.

“Boyd, do you have a knife and some rope I could use,” Derek inquired, once most of the other had already left.

“Do I want to know what you want it for?”

“A bit of theatricality,” Derek replied, with a grin.

Producing the rope and knife, Boyd followed Derek over to an average sized tree and instructed the Beta to tie him up. Catching to the idea, Boyd smiled and did as Derek asked. Once he was securely tied, Derek began thrashing and struggling against the rope, causing it to fray slightly and chip off a good deal of the tree’s bark. When he was satisfied with his results, Derek instructed Boyd to cut the ropes and leave them where they fell.

“Now for the finishing touch,” Derek concluded, motioning for Boyd to hand him the knife. Once he had it, he drew the blade over his palm, cutting just deep enough that he could drip a sufficient amount of blood on the ground and roots, in front of the tree. It was enough that an Alpha would be able to identify the blood as his. “This might throw a little doubt on the idea that I’m working with the Red Hood.”

“It might,” Boyd agreed, handing him a clean rag to wrap around his hand. “Though I think Melissa might be right. You do seem to like getting yourself hurt.”

“I did what needed to be done,” Derek stated. “And the cut’s not that deep. It’ll be healed by morning.”

“Whatever you say,” Boyd smirked. “Now let’s head back to camp.”

 

*

 

They didn’t light any fires back at their real camp that night. The smell of smoke traveled further and stronger than most other scents and they didn’t want to risk anyone sniffing out their real camp. So, dinner that night was a cold but filling meal and extra blankets were passed out to make up for the lack of warmth.

The next morning Stiles joined the others to inspect the dummy camp. Derek again tried to protest that it was too dangerous for him to be there, in case any of the soldiers recognized his scent from when he used to live at the Palace. Stiles simply smiled and produced a small vial from his pouch that emanated a familiar noxious smell. That ‘stink bomb’ as Stiles called it would pollute any other smells in the area but, because they were outside, the smell in the area wouldn’t be completely unbearable, like the Hale Castle storeroom was.

“You didn’t really think I’d let any of those brutes catch the scents all of the people in my camp?” Stiles teased. Then he moved over to the tree that Derek had been tied to the day before. “Now, what’s this over here?”

“Derek’s idea,” Boyd explained. “Something to really sell that he was our prisoner.”

“Not bad,” Stiles nodded approvingly and Derek couldn’t help the little flutter of pride that filled his chest. “I brought a few little finishing touches of my own, as well.”

With that, Stiles produced an assortment of miscellaneous items that he began systematically scattering around the faux camp. There were some colored pebbles, like the kind Derek had seen the children play with, a pair of dice, a splintered wooden spoon, scraps of food, a couple broken arrow shafts, and a few old apple cores, just as he promised the day before. Stiles even scratched a few simple games in the dirt by the burnt out fires, for added effect.

Once Stiles was finished, Derek had to admit that the dummy camp truly did look like a real camp that had been hastily abandoned. Now all that was needed was the trail leading up to the mountains.

“Okay, listen up,” Stiles called for everyone’s attention. “You have all done an amazing job here. Really, fantastic work. But I have to ask a few of you for just a little bit more.”

Derek listened as Stiles recited a list of name of all those who would be going with Boyd to create the fake trail. All of Stiles’s main crew were listed, since they were all wanted by the Crown and known as his accomplices. There a few of the older Betas from the camp, as well. Derek figured that they must have bounties on their head already and weren’t concerned about an Alpha learning their scents. He was a little surprised to hear his name among the others; not sure if it meant that Stiles trusted him or if he was just needed to add to their numbers and for his scent.

“We’ll hide our tracks just far enough for the soldiers to think that we were trying to actually hide them,” Boyd assured Stiles, once all the others had returned to the real camp. “But not far enough that they won’t be able to pick up the trail. Then we’ll circle around the long way back to camp. We should be back in plenty of time to help with the rest of your plan.”

“Good, that’s good,” Stiles nodded, though Derek thought he seemed a little distracted. “I still have a few things I need to set up on my own.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea,” Derek asked. “If there are Alpha’s on their way, the scent of an Omega would stand out like a candle on a dark night.”

“Don’t worry about me, Hale,” Stiles winked. “I’ve still got a few more tricks up my sleeve.”

“I think that’s why he’s worried,” Scott laughed. Then he clapped Derek on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow the other. “Don’t sweat it. Stiles knows what he’s doing. Most of the time.”

The Beta’s words didn’t reassure him nearly as much as they were meant to, but—not seeing any other option—he did as he was told and followed.

 

 

You can say hi to me on tumblr [here!](http://luminescentlily.tumblr.com/)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just managed to finish this chapter only a few moments before posting, so I apologize for any spelling and grammatical mistakes and if it seems a little rushed :)

 

 

Even with the impeding threat of the Queen’s soldiers, Stiles was feeling pretty good. His plan was coming along even better than he’d imagined and he was more than a little optimistic about its success.

_We’ve created a good diversion from the real camp_ , He assured himself. _Now we just have to set up enough traps an annoyances to encourage them to not press any further into the forest._

That was where the children had come in. He hadn’t lied to their parents, when he said that he needed them because they were less likely to leave behind a strong scent trail. But that was just an added benefit. The real reason he wanted them was because a child’s mind was infinitely better at coming up with ways to vex and irritate people than any adult’s. He wanted to set up as many booby-traps and annoying obstacles as possible so that, by the time the soldiers reached the fake camp, they would be more than willing to accept that it was real and leave the forest as soon as possible.

So far, their devious little minds had gone above and beyond even his wildest expectations. Thanks to their hard work the day before, the area of the forest starting from the edge of the trees and leading all the way to the dummy camp was littered with trick and traps that would plague the soldiers, every step of the way.

Most of the traps were designed to just seem like they were natural parts of the forest. Like how they’d thrown buckets of water on areas of frozen ground to make treacherous ice patches and then used small torches to melt snow, mixing it with the dirt, to create quicksand-like pools of mud, in other areas.

Then there were the ones that were obviously man-made traps. Things like the dozens of shallow holes they dug and then expertly covered with a layer of leaves and snow. Anyone not being careful of where they stepped was liable to twist an ankle in one, at the very least.

He was particularly pleased with one ingenious idea, from two young kids named Liam and Mason. It involved using some old meat that hadn’t been preserved properly and leaving strips of it all along the trail to the dummy camp. The spoiled meat would attract all kinds of flies and bugs that would swarm around and generally aggravate anyone passing through. It they were lucky, it might even attract a few larger predators, to spook the soldiers. Plus, the stench would play further havoc on their noses.

The true gem though, was one of his own ideas, made possible with some help from Melissa. It involved trip wires that, when pulled, released a cloud of powdered poison ivy and poison oak, from bags hidden up in the trees. The powder would rain down on the soldiers’ head, getting in their eyes and find its way inside and under their armor, causing all kinds of rashes and just being a general nuisance. Stiles had met plenty of formidable people, in his years being an outlaw, but he had yet to meet the person—Alpha, Beta, or Omega—who could deal with poison ivy and poison oak gracefully.

He had just finished doing his last sweep of making sure all their tracks from the dummy camp were covered, when Scott returned from the special assignment he’d sent him on.

“Tell me you have good news Scotty!” Stiles all but demanded.

“He had some!” Scott affirmed, as he set down two large burlap sacks with a sigh of relief. “But you better hurry. The soldiers were already making their way into the forest, when I left.”

“No worries, man,” Stiles assured, bending down to inspect the contents. “I’ll be done before you can say ‘be careful’.”

“Whatever, just be care—just watch your back,” Scott clapped him on the shoulder.

“I always do.”

“Sure,” Scott snorted.

“Hey,” Stiles balked. “I’m a very cautious person.”

He then illustrated his point by haphazardly swinging one of the sacks up onto his shoulder, only to underestimate the momentum of the bag and nearly knocked himself to the ground.

“Need a hand with that,” a familiar Alpha’s voice inquired from behind him.

“Whoa!” Stiles jolted and spun around in a flurry of waving limbs. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, sneaking up on me, when the forest is crawling with the Queen’s soldiers? You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you!”

Derek simply raised an eyebrow at that.

“And shouldn’t you be with Boyd, on your way to the mountain passes?”

“We just got back,” Derek replied, gesturing to where Boyd and the others were trickling back into camp. “And you look like you could use a hand with that.”

_There are a few uses I could think of for your hands—_

_No! Stop that thought right there!_ He internally berated himself. _Stupid Omega hormones. Making me think like some_ _knot-hungry bitch in heat._

This was why he’d never let an Alpha in his camp, even though there were plenty of poverty stricken Alphas who would have helped him fight for his cause. Having an Alpha around always messed with his biological responses. The more prolonged his exposer to Alphas lasted, the worse the effects became. Add that to the stress of the situation and his instincts were practically screaming at him to just curl up into a ball and let the big strong Alpha take care of everything.

_Especially one as drool-worthy as—Nope! Not thinking about that!_

Hoping that the smell of his irritation would drown any trace of his arousal, he focused on his annoyance and ground out a simple, “I’m fine.”

“Stop being stubborn and let me help,” Derek growled back.

“Uh Stiles, maybe—” Scott started, but Stiles cut him off.

“As it happens, I’m not ‘being stubborn’ because you **can’t** help with this.”

“You’re caring heavy objects from one place to another, isn’t that exactly what big, dumb Alphas are good for.”

“Really,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “You’re going to complain that Alphas are known for their strength. I understand that it must be _such_ a hardship for you.”

“Damn it, Stiles, just let me help!”

“You want to help,” Stiles challenged. “Fine. Pick up the other one, _if you can_.”

“Stiles, come on, you’re being a dick,” Scott chided.

But Stiles ignored him. He was pushing things and he knew it, but he just couldn’t help it. Part of it was his biology. Derek—an Alpha—had been deferring to him, backing down from their arguments and, while the rational part of his brain rejoiced in it, a more primitive part of his brain hated it. It was in their very natures for Alpha to want to dominate Omegas and for Omegas to want to be dominated by Alphas—to an extent. So, every time Derek backed down, it only spurred Stiles to push forward even more, to push Derek until he finally put Stiles in his place.

All of which only made Stiles angrier at what he perceived as his own body’s betrayal of his ideals.

Rising to the challenge, Derek stepped forward and attempted to lift the sack off the ground. The sack might as well have been filled with bricks for how impossible it was for Derek to lift. He watched the Alpha grow more and more frustrated with each passing second, as he continued to tug at the bag. After the seventh try, when it looked like Derek was going to rip the bag open, before he got it off the ground, Stiles finally took pity on him and opened the sack to reveal its dark grainy contents.

“Mountain Ash,” Derek rasped.

“Our last line of defense,” Stiles confirmed.

Mountain Ash was pretty much the only substance capable of stopping and Alpha. Even most Betas had a hard time passing barriers made of the stuff. Only Omegas and children who haven’t presented their dynamic yet were able to pass Mountain Ash barriers without harm. And only Beta Druids were capable of wielding it—or so most people believed.

“How are you going to make a barrier out of it?” Derek asked. “You don’t have any Druids in your camp.”

“Don’t need one,” Scott chimed in. “We’ve got Stiles.”

Stiles watched the realization dawn on Derek’s features. One moment the Alpha was staring at Scott like he’d grown a second head and the next he turned wide eyes on Stiles. He could almost see Derek’s mind putting the pieces together, like how Stiles could practically disappear without a trace into the forest or why he spent so much time up in the branches of the Nemeton.

“You have the spark for magic,” Derek spoke with something close to awe in his voice.

“I can do a few things,” Stiles shrugged defensively. “Mostly working with Mountain Ash and occasionally a weak camouflage and hiding my scent. Magic runs stronger in Omegas. A tradeoff for our ‘weaker’ physical condition. But I can’t do much without real training.”

“Why didn’t you come forward and join the College of Druids?”

“You can’t be that naïve,” Stiles rolled his eyes, bending down to tie up the sack and hoist it over his other shoulder. “The College of Druids would never accept me.”

“But you have a spark!” Derek insisted.

“I’m an Omega, how many Omegas do you know of in the College of Druids?”

He knew Derek wouldn’t have an answer to that but that didn’t stop him from asking. The College of Druids was comprised almost entirely of Betas, with one or two rare Alphas who showed a weak spark. But there weren’t any Omegas, even though magic flowed strongest in Omegas than in any other dynamic.

“None, because there are none” Stiles continued. “And besides, the scars of the Gerard’s witch hunts are still raw wounds around the kingdom. In some places, the Church acts like Gerard’s laws are still in place and punish any hint of magic.”

“Not everywhere,” Derek protested. “The Hale Lands—”

“Are becoming one of the worst places for magic, under Harris’s rule,” Stiles cut him off with the harsh truth. “If I had come forward, I would have either been burned as a witch, or worse, married off to some oaf in order to breed magic Beta babies that could enter the College of Druids one day. Neither option was very appealing to me.”

“I’m not the biggest supporter of King Christopher but I know that he is nothing like Gerard. He values magic users.”

“Only if they are Alphas or Betas,” Stiles spat with such scorn that Derek actually took a step back from him. “An Omega’s place is at the hearth or in the bedroom. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are soldiers on their way as we speak and I still have work to do.”

With that, Stiles marched off into the woods, with as much dignity as he could muster, while laboring under the weight of the sacks of Mountain Ash. He was almost disappointed that Derek didn’t try to stop him, until he felt a looming presence overtake him.

“I may not be able to touch Mountain Ash, but I can still come with you,” Derek announced, once he caught up.

“Because I’m such a delicate thing that can’t protect myself,” Stiles shot back accusingly.

“Because there’s half an army coming our way and anyone would need protection,” Derek growled, red bleeding into the edges of his eyes. “I’m. Coming. With. You.”

A shiver ran through his body, which he only partially managed to disguise by pretending to shift the bags on his shoulders. “Fine,” he relented, his Omega instincts quivering in delight. “Just try not to get in the way.”

He was tempted to pull another one of his disappearing acts, just to prove to himself that he could disobey the Alpha’s order, but thought better of it. They’d already wasted enough precious time on their pretty dominance squabble. Besides that, Mountain Ash tended to get in the way of any other types of tricks he tried, so he might not have been able to pull it off successful with the two bags weighing him down.

They walked together for a little ways out of the camp, shrouded in a tense, uncomfortable silence. While he normally had little problem filling, he didn’t quite trust himself not to start another fight at the moment. Plus, you know, the men with swords on their way to kill and capture them all could have been within hearing range.

Once he judged that they were a suitable enough distance away from camp, he let the sacks fall with a dull thud and busied himself with opening one. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Derek move to take up a defensive position, one hand on his hilt, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice.

Again, his stupid hormones went wild at the sight of such a gorgeous, virile Alpha protecting him. It distracted him so much that it took him a full minute to remember how to untie the stupid burlap sack.

_Pull it together Stiles, you’re better than this!_

Resisting the urge to whoop in delight at finally getting the sack open, he immediately stuck his hand inside. Taking a moment to enjoy the unique feel of it around his hand; the slight crackle of it responding to his magic. Scooping out a handful, he closed his eyes and focused on the result he wanted to create.

He had no formal training, so all he’d been able to do thus far were simple things that were often spoken of in books and old tales. From what he’d been able to glean in all his reading, he’d figured out that magic had much more to do with focus and intent, than with strict rituals and procedures.

Breathing in deeply through his nose, he began walking, sprinkling out a little bit of ash as he went. He didn’t pour it in a solid line, but rather scattered it around, so there was a light dusting that blended in with the ground. This continued this for a while, going back to the sack, every so often to grab another handful, when needed. He had just finished off the first sack and was about to open the second one, when Derek spoke up.

“I thought you were trying to make a barrier?”

“I am,” Stiles blinked open his eyes, concentration broken. “Just not a noticeable one. I don’t want it to stop them in their tracks, because running into an impassable wall is basically the same as hanging up giant sign that says ‘Real Secret Camp This Way.’ This will still let them through, but it will sap their strength and make them feel uneasy, discouraging them from wanting to go in this direction, without making them consciously aware of it.”

“Hiding, instead of shielding,” Derek nodded in understanding.

“Shields can break, with enough force,” Stiles clarified. “But your enemy can’t hit you, if they don’t know where you are.”

Getting back to work, he continued on his pattern of pouring it in a crescent moon shape around the camp, making sure to leave a clear section near the back of the camp, in case they needed to flee. He had just finished pouring out the last of the Mountain Ash, when Derek abruptly turned his head in the direction of the King’s Road.

“They’re here,” Stiles stated, rather than asked.

“Just over four miles away,” Derek confirmed, tilting his head ever so slightly in order to the side to better hear.

“Well then,” Stiles remarked. “We’d better go get the others.”

“Get the others?” Derek echoed in confusion.

“Yep,” Stiles smirked. “Don’t want them to miss the show.”

The two of them returned to the camp to check that everything was okay, before heading out again with Scott, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. Everyone back at the camp was nervous, but not panicked. And, if all goes according to plan, they should be fine.

 

*

 

Things were better than fine. In fact, he would even go so far as saying that his plan was going fantastically. They caught back up with the soldiers about two miles away from the dummy camp. Stiles had expected them to be a little further along, but he’d forgotten that they were a large force and unused to moving through the woods, like he and his friends were.

Though they were all careful to split up and keep their distance, to avoid detection, Stiles could still make out a good number of details about them. Such as the fact that most of them were average foot soldier, with only one Alpha knight as their leader.

And they looked utterly miserable.

Stiles could clearly see that most of them were splattered with mud and sweating from walking all day in heavy armor. Not to mention the red splotches already appearing on some of their arms and faces from where his poison oak/ivy trap had gotten them. A good number of them were limping and there was a small swarm of flies hovered above their heads.

But that was nothing compared to the absolutely retched looks on their faces, as they all stuck close together and cast nervous glances into the trees. They clearly did not want to be there and Stiles wagered that it wouldn’t take much more for them to decide that their hatred of the forest outweighed their fear of the Queen’s wrath.

It reminded him of some of the old stories his father used to tell him about when he was a soldier, fighting against King Gerard. At the beginning of that Civil War, Gerard’s forces had greatly outnumbered the forces of Prince Christopher. They lost every battle they fought but they just kept hammering at them. Eventually the soldiers fighting for Gerard grew so sick of battle, or too disillusioned with him, and most of them deserted. It was those stories that had helped him come up with his current plant.

The only one of their number who seemed truly determined to carry on was the Alpha knight at their lead. Stiles didn’t recognize him or his house sigil, painted brightly on his overly large shield.

_Probably some newly knighted Alpha that the Queen raised to nobility in order to plump up her ranks._ Stiles frowned.

That meant he was probably eager to do well on this mission so he could prove that he was worthy of his sudden elevation. He wouldn’t be as easy to discourage as the others.

Another hour passed, before the soldiers finally reached the dummy camp. Stiles took particular enjoyment from watching the Alpha knight charge directly into the clearing, only to abruptly stop, like he’d run into a stone wall. Or a scent wall. Even without enhanced hearing, Stiles heard the colorful expletives that spewed out of the knight’s mouth. Though that didn’t stop him from ordering his men into the clearing.

The dummy camp was only just large enough for the troop of soldiers to stand in and nothing else. If the Alpha knight had possessed any shred of intellect at all, he would have only taken a few men and searched the camp for clues. Though about ten minutes later, he appeared to show just enough intelligence to announce that the camp had been abandoned and ordered his men to search the surrounding woods for signs of where the Red Hood and his men had gone.

This was the most dangerous part of Stiles’s plan. Boyd had been instructed to leave a trail leading up to the mountains, but to not make it too obvious. He only hoped that some of the soldiers were observant enough to find the fake trail, before any of them stumbled onto the real camp.

The Mountain Ash barrier seemed to be holding out well. Several soldiers approached it, only to gradually veer off course to search in different directions. It was a nail-bitingly stressful time, alternating between picturing every horrible scenario that could possibly happen to doing his best not to just start shooting random arrows in order to draw the soldiers away in the opposite direction.

When one particularly keen-eyed soldier approached the Mountain Ash barrier for the fourth time, he was on the verge of drawing an arrow, only to be stopped by a large, warm hand on his back.

“Relax,” Derek whispered in his ear, the Alpha’s warm breath ghosting over his skin.

Stiles would deny to his dying day just how much Derek’s soothing touch helped him keep his cool but, for the moment, he leaned into the other man’s warmth.

“I just wish I could hear what they were saying,” Stiles grumbled quietly.

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Derek huffed. “They’re all complaining about being here. I’d say about half of them actually believe that the forest is haunted and that you’re some kind of demon. And all of them are more than ready to—”

Before Derek could finish that sentence, I cry went up among the soldiers. Stiles tensed and readied an arrow. That proved to be unnecessary, as it turned out that the soldiers had finally discovered Boyd’s false trail.

Like a bloodhound on a scent, the Alpha knight urged his men along the trail, causing Stiles and the others to fall behind, if they didn’t want to be noticed. By the time they did catch up, the soldiers were all gathered at a small cliff face, where the forest fell away to the sheer height of the mountains. The Alpha knight was standing on a boulder shouting and waving his arms toward the mountain, but none of the other soldiers moved.

“He’s trying to order them to start climbing,” Derek informed him.

“They obviously aren’t complying,” Stiles observed.

“No,” Derek agreed. “Several of them are arguing that they can’t all climb in their condition, thanks to your traps, and that they don’t have the right equipment to survive up in the mountains in winter. They’re threatening to leave him here.”

“Then they only need a little more to tip them over the edge,” Stiles smirked.

He then cupped his hands together in front of his mouth and gave his best impersonation of a wolf howl. Catching on to his idea, he heard Scott, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd all add their own howls. The noise echoed and amplified up against the mountains, making it seem more like there were a dozen hungry wolves approaching.

Needless to say, it had his desired results in moments. As soon as the soldiers heard the howls, they all raised their weapons and shields and began to return back the way they’d come. The Alpha knight was turning red in the face, shouting at them to come back, but they were long past listening to him.

Stiles had to physically hold a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing, as the soldiers ran within a few feet of him, in their mad dash to get back to civilization. The Alpha knight soon followed, sputtering curses and threats down on their heads, but even he looked a little relieved to be leaving.

Stiles and the others followed them, until they were almost out of the forest, before they finally returned home, where they were greeted with enthusiastic cheers. Soon the fires were lit and a large meal prepared, as everyone pressed for details. Isaac wasted no time, snatching up his lute and launching into an impromptu ballad of the day’s adventure.

Even Friar Finstock lightened up and shared a few barrels of his homemade moonshine with the camp, much to Melissa’s distress. Stiles heard her loudly warning others about how they’d wake up blind and unable to move in the morning, even as he helped himself to a mug. It tasted awful, but made him feel light and giddy, as he recanted the events of the day again and again.

It wasn’t until the night had wound down and the effects of the moonshine had mostly worn off, when a sobering thought occurred to him. Most of the camp had gone to bed, content in the knowledge of their safety, while he sat staring at the dying embers of the fire.

“Stiles, what’s got you so down?” Scott slurred. “You should be happy! We beat them.”

“Yeah, we beat them Scotty,” Stiles sighed. “But they still have some of our people in a dungeon somewhere. We still have to get them out.”

“You’ll think of something,” Scott stated with absolute confidence. “You’re the Red Hood! You can do anything!”

“You’re still drunk,” Stiles shook his head. “You know your mom’s gonna kill you in the morning.”

“And you’ll find a way to save me from that too,” Scott nodded.

“Dream on,” Stiles laughed. “The Red Hood can do many things, but I’m not a miracle worker.”

Feeling better, Stiles helped Scott up and the two of them stumbled towards their tent. Scott’s snoring kept him awake for a while longer, but eventually he also drifted off to sleep. His last waking thoughts were of a warm, comforting hand at his back.

 

You can come say hi to be on tumblr [here!](http://luminescentlily.tumblr.com/)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of my readers who also read my story Coffee & Politics, you'll already know that the last six months have been pretty rough in real life for me. Things have finally started to settle down, but I still don't have nearly as much time to write as I would wish. I hope this extra long chapter goes a little way towards earning your forgiveness for the long wait.
> 
> A thousand and one hugs to all my loyal readers who have stuck around. I promise I will do my best to post new chapters as soon as I can. Unfortunately, I can't make any promises on the regularity of updates. All I can say is that I am determined to finish this story.

 

 

The next morning, Derek awoke in a state of absolute misery. Everything joint and muscle was stiff and sore, his stomach was roiling, and it felt like there was an entire battalion of armored knights clamoring around inside his head.

 _When did the sun become so bright?_ He thought wretchedly, as a shaft of harsh winter light seemed to slice directly into his skull from between the leafy canopy above.

From the sounds of pitiful moans and groans emanating from all around him, he wasn’t only one suffering the after effects of Friar Finstock’s moonshine.

“I’m dying,” someone whimpered pathetically, somewhere to Derek’s left.

Another person echoed that sentiment with a few agonized cries of, “It’s the plague, isn’t it? We’re going to developed puss-filled boils and waste away.”

He cracked one eye open to see two of the younger boys, Liam and Mason, sprawled on the ground a few feet away.

A tall figure moved to tower over him. He gave a silent thanks for the shade, only for it to transform into a curse, when Friar Finstock’s voice thundered out.

“Aw, quit your bellyaching,” Friar Finstock barked, the noise reverberating painfully inside Derek’s skull, as he quickly squeezed his eyes shut again. “Why, the first time I made a batch of this, I blacked out for two days and woke up in the middle of a field full of sheep. Naked! Then I got up, walked to the church, and gave the Sunday morning sermon. I may have forgotten to put a robe on first, but I didn’t lie about like some useless sack of potatoes. I’m looking at you, Greenberg.”

“Not everyone has your constitution, Friar,” intoned a gentler voice.

“True,” the Friar nodded far too vigorously to be considered sagely. “It takes an iron will and strong stomach to be a lone Christian among a band of heathens.”

“Then perhaps you should exercise some Christian charity and help me distribute water to those in need,” the gentler voice, whom he could now recognize as Melissa, persuaded.

“I supposed it is my duty to administer to my flock,” Friar Finstock grunted.

There was the sound of water sloshing, before the Friar moved away, allowing the full force of the sun’s light to hit his face again. Temporarily blinded by the sun again, he lied there for a moment listening to the sounds of Friar Finstock dousing random people with water to get them up and moving.

“Here, sit up so you can have a drink,” Melissa spoke soothingly, as she crouched down next to him.

Sitting up proved to be more of a challenge than it should have been and the forest around him seemed to spin for a moment, but it was worth it. The cool water Melissa helped him sip washed away the worst of the sour taste in his mouth and cleared his head a little.

“I don’t suppose you have some herbal remedy that can cure this,” Mason inquired hopefully, and he and Liam crawled over to take their share of water.

“Afraid not,” Melissa shook her head. “And I’m not sure I would give it to you lot, even if I did.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at that, “I thought healers took an oath to treat those in need.”

“Call if preventative treatment,” Melissa countered, while ladling small mouthfuls of water to Liam. “Letting you idiots suffer now will make you think twice about touching that rotgut in the future. Now, time to get up. There’s work to do.”

With that she stood and upended the entire bucket of water over their heads, producing a cacophony of indignant squawks.

The three of them did eventually get up, if only to get out of their wet clothes which quickly became chilled in the icy winter air. A nice warm breakfast helped as well.

While he ate, he kept an eye out for Stiles. He vaguely remembered watching Scott and Stiles stubble of to their tent the night before, but so far he’d only seen the floppy-haired Beta. It wasn’t until he was almost finished that he spotted a flash of red out of the corner of his eye.

Stiles and Isaac were off to the side speaking in hushed tones. Derek’s head was still a little too fuzzy to fully hear their conversation, but he could hear enough to understand that Stiles was leaving again. With his mind still cloudy, his instincts had more control and they were screaming at him to not let his Omeg—Stiles out of his sight.

Before he even made a concisions decision, he was up and moving in Stiles’s direction. The Omega was giving Isaac his final orders, when Derek blurted out, “I’m going with you.”

“Out of the question,” Stiles dismissed him entirely. “I need to move fast and stealthily—”

“I’m. Going. With. You.” Derek locked his eyes with Stiles’, his tone leaving no room for argument. “There could still be soldiers in the woods. What would you do if you came across a troop of them by yourself?”

“I’d kick their asses, just like I did you,” Stiles declared confidently, staring back at him just as forcefully as he was.

“You’re still sluggish from last night,” Derek tried again.

“You’re one to talk,” Stiles snorted.

“I’m going with you.”

“He might be of some help,” Isaac tried to mediate. “At the very least you could use him as a distraction, if there are still troops in the forest.”

“I can handle a few soldiers on my own,” Stiles insisted.

“But can you handle all the drama you’re stirring up in the camp right now,” Isaac pointed out.

Derek and Stiles broke their gazes away from each other to see several members of the camp opening staring at them, concern etched on all their faces.

“Everyone is still recovering the close call we had yesterday,” Isaac went on. “We don’t need you to fighting now, when we should be focused on rescuing our people.”

“All the more reason I should be seen helping you, instead of sitting around doing nothing,” Derek pressed.

“Fine,” Stiles conceded and shot him a murderous look, before turning and walking toward the treeline. “Just try not to slow me down.”

Not wanting to spoil his small victory, he hurried after the Omega, only pausing to catch the pouch of food and water Isaac tossed him.

For the next hour, Derek endured Stiles’s impatient orders. If he fell more than four steps behind, Stiles snarled for him to hurry up, yet if he kept up, he was hissed at to walk more quietly. On top of that, Derek was fairly certain that Stiles had chosen the most difficult, twisting, winding route to get wherever it was they were going, just to spite him. All of this just served to make his lingering headache even worse, as the time passed.

After the fifth time he stumbled over and unexpected dip in the ground, he heard Stiles mutter something about stupid, hulking Alphas, who couldn’t keep quiet. That turned out to be the final straw for Derek.

“I’ve had just about enough of all your attitude!” Derek growled.

“ ** _Excuse me_**!” Stiles whirled around to face him.

“You heard me,” Derek thundered. “You didn’t want me to come, fine. But I’m here now, so maybe you could stop acting like a child throwing temper tantrum and work _with_ me.”

“I’m not the one acting like a child, demanding to go along on every mission, even the ones where I’d be of absolutely NO USE!”

“I—”

Whatever Derek was about to say was cut off by the sharp crack of branch snapping, followed by a heavy exhale that didn’t come from either of them.

Glancing to his right, his stomach dropped at the sight he saw. Standing no more than ten feet from them stood a wild boar larger than any Derek had ever seen in his life. It had to be as tall as Derek’ waist and weigh around three hundred pounds, if he had to guess, with massive tusks that could rip him in half. Even it’s dark, bristly fur looked dangerous to the touch.

_Shit_

This was not good. Wild boars were extremely territorial and could be dangerous at any time of year, but particularly during winter, when food was scarce. If they had accidentally wandered into his feeding grounds, then it would take any wrong move as a sign of attack. He was about suggest they back away slowly, when he saw Stiles start to draw an arrow from his quiver.

“Don’t do it,” Derek cautioned. “If you miss, you’ll only send it into a rage and make it twice as dangerous.”

“I won’t miss,” Stiles replied confidently.

In that instant, the boar decided it had had enough of their conversation and roared loud enough to make them both flinch, as it charged them head on.

Reacting on instinct, he grabbed Stiles’s arm and yanked him out of the boar’s trajectory and all but threw him into a snow bank a few feet away, which caused Stiles to release his arrow wildly off mark. The arrow sailed clear over the boar, missing him completely.

Drawing his sword, he managed to bring the blade up only just in time to deflect one of the boar’s massive tusks. The force of the impact sent a shock wave through his entire body, causing his sword to be ripped from his grasp. Years of training drills allowed him to duck and roll to the left, springing back to his feet a moment later, but now weaponless.

The boar wasn’t nearly as rattled as Derek and had already turned to make another charge. Derek dived for his swords, only to realize that the boar had rounded and was directing his second charge at Stiles. Realizing that he would never be able to make it to Stiles’s side in time, he stood frozen in horror, as the boar smashed through snow and ice, tearing its way towards the Omega.

“Stiles RUN!”

But the Omega ignored him. Stiles had gotten back to his feet and had nocked another arrow. As calm and collect as if he were back in the camp practicing on straw targets, he drew the arrow back and released. Derek didn’t see the arrow hit the boar, but a second later the boar’s front legs gave out from beneath it, smashing to the ground, and sliding to halt mere inches from Stiles’s feet. A red fletched arrow sticking out of one of its eyes.

Relief washed over him with such power that his knees nearly gave out. An hysterical laugh bubbled up in the back of his throat, but one look at the scowl on Stiles’s face tamped it back down.

“What the hell was that, Derek?” Stiles pointed a finger at him accusingly.

“You can’t possibly blame me for a wild boar attacking us.”

“No, but I can sure as hell blame you for ruining my first shot and nearly killing us both!”

“I was saving you!”

“Clearly not, since I’m the one who took down the boar. All you did was needlessly throw yourself directly into harm’s way. Again!”

Stiles might have had a point there, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t have taken that change, when it was Stiles’s life was on the line.

But Stiles wasn’t done yelling at him yet. “You’ve seen me in action over a dozen times now and yet every time there’s danger you still insist on treating me like some damsel in distress. What is it going to take to get through that thick Alpha skull of yours? I. Can. Take. Care of. Myself!”

“This wasn’t about you being an Omega,” Derek argued, pissed that Stiles was bringing up Alpha insults again.

“The hell it wasn’t!”

“I’ve seen Alphas get torn apart by boars half the size of this one,” Derek countered.

“And you would have jumped in front of them, as well?” Stiles persisted.

“No, but I wouldn’t have jumped in front of it for another Omega either,” Derek insisted.

“Sure you wouldn’t,” Stiles huffed, bending down to pull his arrow free from the dead animal at his feet.

This conversation was spiraling into completely different directions, but he couldn’t think of any way to steer it back in the direction he wanted.

“You aren’t like other Omegas,” Derek tried again.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean!”

And it was true that Stiles wasn’t like all those silly omegas he’d met at court, but it was more than that. Stiles wasn’t like anyone—Alpha, Beta, or Omega—that Derek had ever met. He wanted to find the words to explain that he wanted protect Stiles because he was _Stiles_ , but words had never been his strong suit. So, of course, Stiles misunderstood.

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe no Omega is like that?” Stiles rounded on him, getting right in his face. “That maybe I’m exactly like every other Omega in the world, only no one realizes because we’ve all been forced to behave how _you_ expects of us to. Did you ever stop and think that!?!

“There might even be Omegas who perfectly fit the stereotype, with nothing more in their heads than cooking for their mates and breeding tons of babies—and that’s great for them—but for every one of those there are a hundred who are smart or funny or talented musicians or gifted writers or maybe even great fighters. Every single Omega I met in the convent was just as different and interesting as any Beta or Alpha; only they were never given a chance to be anything other than _just an Omega_.”

Getting angrier by the second at how Stiles kept twisting everything he said into an insult against Omegas, he lashed out.

“You think I’m the one making a big deal about you being an Omega, but you’re the one that keeps trying to make this about our dynamics. Every other sentence out of your mouth is ‘thick-sculled Alpha this’ or ‘muscle-brained Alpha that.’ I may have made a couple of rash decisions, but nothing to deserve the ridicule you keep spouting about me and every other Alpha. In that you’re just as bad at judging Alphas and other people are at judging Omegas.”

It was Stiles’s turn to take a step back this time, though the victory felt a little hollow to Derek.

He waited to Stiles to speak next, but the Omega stayed silent, his face set in a stubborn mask, as he searched for something in Derek’s face. For his part, Derek clenched his jaw and matched Stiles’s expression.

A low howl sounded in the distance, alerting them to the precariousness of their position.

“Let’s go,” Stiles ordered. “We’re wasting time. We can leave the boar for the wolves. It should give them a big enough meal that they’ll leave our camp alone.”

 

 

***

 

 

They reached the outskirts of Whittemore Manor quickly, after the incident with the boar. He had decided to take a more direct route to make up for lost time, though he mentally defended his decision to take a trickier route before in order to keep the location of their camp secret. Or at least that was what he told himself.

“Whittemore Manor?” Derek asked incredulously.

“I have a few contacts inside that I can get information from,” Stiles explained, as he stripped off his trademark red cloak and slipped on a nondescript winter coat, the type that most peasant and servants wore.

“You’re not going inside, are you?” Derek questioned.

“Did you expect I would just give some secret signal and my informant would come running outside to meet me at the edge of the woods?”

From the look on his face, that was exactly what Derek had expected.

“Anyone seen leaving the Manor for the woods, in the middle of winter, would be under immediate suspicion,” Stiles explained.

“What about when you have to get back out?” Derek argued.

“I’m a lot better at sneaking around than most people,” Stiles boasted. “I’ve done it plenty of times before. This time won’t be any different.”

Derek started to open his mouth to protest, but Stiles cut him off, “Don’t even think about trying to come with me. You don’t know your way around and you stick out like a sore thumb.”

“And an unmated Omega waltzing around doesn’t stick out?” Derek countered.

“Like I said, I’ve done this before,” Stiles insisted. “Now wait here. I’ll be back in less than an hour. If I’m longer than that, then I give you full permission to charge in and try and rescue me. It won’t work, of course, but I might be able to use the distraction to slip away.”

With that he made his way out from the trees and towards the estate. It was a little trickier this time than the previous times, because everything was covered in a blanket of stark white snow that made any other color or movement stand out. However, the snow also had its advantages. The guards on duty would be more concerned with keeping warm and counting down till the end of their shift, when they could go inside for a hot meal, than on looking for actual intruders. And the snow covered hedges still made excellent places to hide behind.

Because it was winter, he couldn’t just wait for Lydia in the garden. She would be kept inside to protect her “delicate Omega constitution” from catching a cold. Luckily for him, he knew a fairly hidden and direct way up to Lydia’s quarters in the manor. Lydia always insisted on having fresh flowers in her rooms during spring and summer, so there was a special servant’s passage from the flower gardens going up to her bedroom. Since it was the middle of winter, there was no reason for anyone to be in that passage and it wasn’t connected to any of the other servant’s passageways, so he was unlikely to bump into anyone unexpectedly.

The door to Lydia’s bedroom opened soundlessly, the hinges keep well oiled, so as not to disturb the mistress of the manor. Lydia’s room was very much what you would expect of the room of a noble lady. A large canopied bed in the corner was covered in quilts and fur blankets and possessed velvet hanging to block out the light, if she wished to sleep in. The walls were covered with magnificently detailed tapestries depicting various scenes from stories, of unicorn hunts and knights battling dragons. And keeping the room toasty warm was a large fireplace stocked with fragrant apple wood that crackled cheerfully.

Stiles was only slightly disappointed to find Lydia wasn’t there, but then reflected that he was also lucky he didn’t come upon a maid cleaning, who would might have screamed at his sudden appearance and alerted the whole castle. Now all he had to do was locate Lydia. If he had to guess, she would be in her study.

Cracking the hallway door open, he checked to see that the coast was clear, before he eased out into the open. Oh so cautiously, he made his way down the hall to the door he knew led to Lydia’s personal study. Knocking their secret code lightly at the door, he was rewarded with the door opening a moment later and an agitated Lydia ushering him impatiently inside.

If Lydia’s bedroom reflected that of a typical noblewoman, then her personal study reflected Lydia herself and her constant thirst for knowledge. The walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookcases, full to the brim with precious, hand-copied volumes from all over the kingdom. Large windows with ledges piled high with fluffy cushions provided the perfect place to sit and read for hours on end. There was no fireplace—it couldn’t be risked with so many valuable, flammable books—but several braziers were lit around the room, burning sharp smelling herbs that immediately perked up his energy and focused his mind.

While Lydia stuck her head out the door to see check the hallway, Stiles took a minute to enjoy being in this room. There were nowhere near as many books here as there were at the Royal Palace, but it was still an impressive collection. It made him feel somewhat wistful of his days growing up in the palace. Living in the forest had plenty of advantages, but books were one of the things he missed the most from the outside world.

He was tempted to pull one down and read a few pages, but the sound of Lydia bolting the door brought his attention back to what he was there for.

“Where have you been?” Lydia hissed. “There have been all kinds of rumors about the raid in the forest and then when the troops came back looking like—”

“We’re fine, Lydia,” Stiles assured. “Everyone is fine.”

He quickly summarized their dummy camp ruse and how they’d tricked the soldiers into thinking they’d retreated into the mountains.

“It was a clever plan, I grant you,” Lydia admitted. “But it was incredibly risky.”

“It was the only option we had,” Stiles insisted. “Moving the camp was out of the question and trying to take the soldiers head on would have been suicide. Now, what can you tell me about our people who were compromised?”

“One of our groups of distributers got sloppy,” she fumed. “After your raid on the Hale Castle, someone decided to go out and celebrate the victory. He got drunk off his ass and started bragging. Unfortunately for him, someone overheard and sold him out to one of Lady Katherine’s cronies. The whole group was rounded up and thrown in prison cells. The idiot who caused it all tried to save his own skin by giving up the location of where they picked up their supplies and from that the Queen’s soldiers made a pretty good guess about where you were.”

“I’m going to kill the bastard, when I get my hands on him,” Stiles promised, clenching his fists like he held the man’s throat in them.

“Lady Katherine’s men already beat you to it,” Lydia grimaced. “When the soldiers came back empty handed, they tortured him to death.”

“What about the others?”

“Being held under lock and key at a fort to the north miles away from the forest, until Lady Katherine can arrive to witness their public execution herself. Apparently she wants to make a spectacle of it and invite several other noble families to watch. Thankfully, snowstorms all over the country are making it difficult to arrange.”

“Good,” Stiles nodded, his mind already processing the information she just gave him. “That give me time to think of something.”

“Stiles…” Lydia hesitated. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but there might not be anything you can do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can’t save everyone Stiles,” she stated. “Even as good as you are, there are some things you just can’t change. But you keep taking bigger and bigger risks and it is going to catch up with you one day.”

“What are you saying, that I should just leave them there to be executed? That I shouldn’t even try to help them!”

“I’m saying that you have to look at the larger picture,” Lydia argued. “I designed our network so that if one group went down, they wouldn’t be able to get at the others. The rest of the network is still in place and can pick up the slack, but _you_ can’t be replaced. You’re the symbol of this resistance and if you’re captured or killed, it could destroy everything we’ve worked for.”

“I can’t accept that,” Stiles insisted. “I won’t. I’ll find a way to save them, whether you help me or not.”

“Of course I’ll help you,” Lydia relented. “I just want to weigh the consequences before you act.”

Not wanting to continue that train of conversation any longer, Stiles reached for his bag and took out the tax ledgers he’d brought with him.

“I have something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

Laying the books and his notes out on the table, he started explaining some of the irregularities he’d discovered. He wasn’t at all surprised, when she was able to spot them quicker than he had or when she did most of the calculations in her head.

“From the looks of these numbers, the tax revenues have been skewed since before the King even left for the Crusade,” Lydia muttered half to herself.

“Maybe the Royal family are the ones behind it, trying to squeeze even more out of people on the sly,” Stiles suggested.

“No,” Lydia rejected the idea. “Allison wouldn’t have kept a secret like this from me, wouldn’t have been able to keep a secret like this. And why would the King and Queen need to cheat the tax records, when they were already getting all the proceeds. And where is all the money going?”

“The war in the Holy Lands,” Stiles suggested.

“No, they’re surviving on scraps over there, if Allison’s letters are anything to go by,” Lydia shot down. “And it certainly isn’t going to the Palace, either. You haven’t been there recently, but the place is practically a shell of what it once was.”

“Well, I’ll leave figuring out that part up to you,” Stiles replied. “I’ve got to be getting back soon.”

“Before you go,” Lydia put her hand on his arm and produced a letter from a hidden pocket. “The reply from the Duchess and Lady of Hale.”

Stiles had almost forgotten that one of his reasons for coming to see Lydia was to get the promised letter from Derek’s sisters. It seemed like so long ago that he’d made that bargain with Derek, he’d almost forgotten that Derek was supposed to be his prisoner.

“Something wrong,” Lydia quirked a brow speculatively.

“Nothing,” Stiles lied and took the letter from her, shoving it in his pocket. “I don’t suppose you already read it.”

“Would I do something like that,” she asked innocently.

“It’s not like I—or anyone else for that matter—would ever be able to tell, if you had,” Stiles replied.

He was almost at the door, when Lydia called out to him again, “Stiles.”

“Yes?”

“Last time you were here, you promised me that you would give Derek a chance. Remember?”

“I said I would _try_ ,” he corrected.

“And have you? Have you _really_ tried?”

“It’s a little hard to when he keeps treating me like some helpless damsel, trying to save me all the time,” he gritted out.

“Yes, it must be _so_ terrible to have someone who actually cares about you getting hurt or not.”

“That’s not—”

“He’s a Hale,” Lydia continued right on. “They’re a family that prided themselves on being the protectors of the realm for generations. On top of that, Derek of Hale has never been known for his eloquence. Did you ever stop and consider that maybe his attempts to save you were his way of expressing how he cares for you?”

“Why do you care so much?” Stiles accused. “You never expressed this much concern for him before.”

“It’s not concern for Hale, it’s concern for you,” Lydia insisted. “I see the way you react, whenever I bring up his name. And I know you. You wouldn’t be this bent out of shape about his actions, if he hadn’t gotten under your skin.”

“He’s not—”

“Don’t even think about lying to me right now Stiles,” she snarled, then sighed. “I won’t press you any more today, but please think about what I said.”

“Fine,” he huffed.

 

 

Sneaking out of the manor proved to be slightly more difficult than sneaking in had been. Even with Lydia’s help getting back to her bedroom and down the passageway to the gardens, there seemed to be an increased number of guards patrolling the grounds than there had been before. He had just narrowly avoided one guard and was rounding the corner of a hedge, when he spotted another guard to his left.

Before he could make a move, and arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him back through a gap in the hedge. He was an instant away from drawing his knife and driving it into the arm hold him, when a familiar chuckle sounded in his ear.

“Careful little Omega,” Danny laughed. “Wouldn’t want you to survive amazing feats of daring, only to be caught by a lowly patrol guard.”

Daniel of the Mahealani Islands was a Beta and longtime ally of the Red Hood. Trained as a scribe, he was master forger and had been invaluable. But most of all he was the fact that Danny never saw him as lesser for being an Omega. The Mahealani Islands were known as paradise on earth, where food fell off the trees in abundance and rivers flowed with wine, all of which was completely untrue according to Danny. But it was true that in Danny’s native culture Omegas were treated as equals to Betas and even Alphas. Danny might tease him and joke around, but he knew that the Beta never saw him as being lesser because of his dynamic.

“Wouldn’t that be an inglorious end,” Stiles joked back softly.

“I take it your talk with Lydia went well,” Danny whispered, as they waited for the guards to pass by.

“For the most part.”

“Trouble?” Danny questioned.

“Lydia thinks it’s too dangerous to rescue our people and that I should thing of the big picture.”

“She’s got a point.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“My own,” Danny chuckled. “But you know Lydia and I are just worried about you and the others. What are a few faceless people we’ve never met to some of our dearest friends?”

“They’re people who need help,” Stiles insisted. “My help.”

“So this is an ego thing,” Danny surmised.

“No, this is about them and how we can save them.”

“Just make sure you remember that,” Danny advised.

When the guard finally left, Danny helped lead Stiles back to the forest. It had started snowing again, which would cover their tracks as well.

“Stay safe,” Danny bid him farewell, when they had reached the outer hedge.

“You too.”

He was almost back to the treeline and Derek, when some of the things Lydia had said came back to him. Maybe he had more upset with Derek’s actions because of how he felt about the Alpha. Danny had just saved him and teased him about being an Omega, yet Stiles had been fine with it, partly because he knew Danny hadn’t meant anything by it. But if it had been Derek in that situation, Stiles would have been furious. He got mad at Derek because he desperately wanted the Alpha to think of him as more than just an Omega.

_I hate it when Lydia’s right._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys liked it and again, thanks for hanging in there. You guys are the absolute best.
> 
> As always comments and critiques are always welcome and encouraged :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that it's been forever and a day since I last updated this story but I have been trying. And I know that I've said it before but being and adult sucks!
> 
> I've made it my New Year's Resolution to finish the stories I've already started. My hope is to have a new chapter at least once a month. I've finished a complete outline of the story, so it should keep me on schedule, but the Muses have their own will.
> 
> I've also tentatively charted out how many chapters are left, but that may be subject to change in the future.

 

 

Of the few virtues Derek possessed, patience was not one that he held in abundance. Scanning all the doors and windows in his line of sight for any possible sign of Stiles, he couldn’t help how his mind kept cycling through possible scenarios of how things could go wrong. Each one he imagined being worse than the last. He couldn’t even pace back in forth in his frustration because any movement along the treeline might alert the guards to his presence.

As a flash of red finally appeared in the corner of his eyes, he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, only to suck it sharply back in, when he noticed another man in Whittemore livery right behind Stiles. He was just about to draw his sword, when he saw Stiles turn and _embrace_ the man.

A growl rumbled deep in his chest, as red started to bleed into the edges of his vison.

He only just managed to pull it back before Stiles came into hearing range. Though it was quite a feat given he could now smell the Beta on his—on Stiles.

“I take it the mission was a success?” he inquired, his voice slightly more clipped than usual.

“Even better than I had anticipated,” Stiles agreed stiffly.

The Omega then surprised him by flipping something at him. He was so caught off guard that he completely missed catching it, allowing it to bounce off his chest and fall to the ground at his feet. Looking down at it, his heart clenched. The simple piece of folded parchment, sealed with a plain blob of wax, had passed through too many hands to still retain the scent of the original sender, but he just knew.

_Laura_

“Merry Yuletide and Happy Birthday, now let’s get back to camp.”

With that, Stiles turned on his heels and started making his way back into the forest. Hastily snatching up the letter, Derek shoved it into a pouch on his belt. He desperately wanted to tear it open but he also wanted to do it privately. And not be lost wandering through the woods because he fell behind. He was certain that Stiles wouldn’t really leave him to stave in the wilderness, but given the Omega’s current mood, Derek couldn’t be sure that Stiles wouldn’t let him sweat for a few ours first, before eventually leading him back to camp.

Despite the letter occupying a large section of his thoughts, an even more pressing concern weighed on his mind. He still thought that Stiles was taking his bias against Alphas to an irrational degree, but he had to admit that Stiles had made some good points. And he didn’t want this one stupid argument to ruin all the progress he’d made in winning Stiles’s trust.

“I’m sorry,” he huffed, as he fell into step behind Stiles.

A slight tensing of Stiles’s shoulders was the only indication that he had heard Derek’s apology.

He continued, “I shouldn’t have gotten in the way of your first shot. You had the boar in your sights and…”

Stiles had slowed to a stop a few feet ahead, still facing away from him. He desperately wanted to close the distance between them, Stiles’s shoulders were still tense, like a skittish horse that was ready to bolt at any second.

“And maybe you’re right. My family used to pride itself on how well we treated our Omegas compared to other places. I was raised to protect and cherish Omegas, but even my family never taught me to respect them. Maybe I am wrong about how I think of other Omegas, but I don’t think about you that way.”

A strong breeze rustled the leaves overhead as Derek waited.

“You make me feel that way,” Stiles all but whispered.

“What way?” Derek asked softly, genuinely puzzled.

With a heavy sigh, Stiles turned around and elaborated, “Being around you makes want to give in to those stupid instincts and be the good little Omega for you.”

“And that’s a bad thing,” Derek stated more than asked. By now he knew enough about Stiles to understand what it had taken to admit something like that.

Stiles didn’t answer and the lack of talking spoke volumes.

After a tense few moments, Derek attempted to reassure Stiles, “I would never force you to be anything you didn’t want to be.”

“But you wouldn’t stop me either,” Stiles spat out. “You wouldn’t protest if I spent my days cooking all your meals, sewing all your clothes and had my belly always full with your brats.”

Derek’s face flushed at the thought. No, he wouldn’t protest at all, but that doesn’t mean it would ever happen.

“You would never let yourself become like that,” Derek argued.

“No, I wouldn’t because I’m smart enough to stop it before it even starts!”

“Stiles—”

“The sun’s going down,” Stiles changed topics abruptly. “We need to get back to camp.”

With that, Stiles turned and ran deeper into the forest. Derek was fast but he could just barely keep up with the erratic trail Stiles was blazing. It also didn’t help that Stiles’s fleeing form was tapping into some of Derek’s more primal instincts. The drive to hunt, to chase, to claim.

He was so focused on controlling his urge to pounce that he barely noticed when they reached the camp. The sudden awareness of being near so many people again was like the bucket of water Melissa had dumped on his head that morning.

It took Stiles less than a second to involve himself in something or other that needed doing around the camp, leaving Derek very much alone and unsure. With a sudden, intense pang of guilt, he remembered the letter from his sister.

Looking around, he decided to try and find somewhere private to read it. This turned to be easier than expected. There must have been some intense expression on his face because no one called out to him or followed him over to the currently deserted practice field.

He sat for a long moment just staring at the crumpled parchment, before finally building up the courage to break the wax seal. Tears sprung to his eyes at the sight of his sister’s familiar handwriting.

Blinking sharply a few times, his eyes cleared enough for him to see.

_Brother,_

_We are so happy you’re alive and well. There have been so many rumor, we’ve been beside ourselves with worry. We both want desperately to see you again but you must stay away from the Palace. The court is even more dangerous than ever before. I wish I could say more, but I dare not. Stay with your new ally or flee these lands, if you can. I fear our country has entered its darkest time. Be safe._

_Love Your Sisters_

 

He read the letter three times over, trying to squeeze out any additional information but it was no use. Everything about the letter was designed to give away as little as possible in the event that it had been intercepted by the Queen. From the lack of family crest on the sealing wax to the intentional lack of specific names, Laura had crafted the letter in such a way to conceal all of their identities. As much as it pained him not to know more about how his sisters were doing, he was glad that they were taking all the precautions necessary to keep themselves safe as well.

And the danger was very real. Even from the brief message, he could practically feel Laura’s concern. Cora no doubt was putting on a brave face through it all, but she would be just as scared as Laura. Yet here he was, free and safe and more concerned with trying to court a possible mate than trying to find a way to free his sisters from the trouble he’d gotten them into. Once again his own selfishness was putting his family in harm’s way.

Unbidden, his mind flashed back to almost a decade ago.

_It was a summer jousting tournament when he first laid eyes on her. A fierce and beautiful princess sitting astride a magnificent stallion, unhorsing each and every challenger that dared take her on. Heir to the throne, she was nearing her second decade and still hadn’t presented, but it was clear to all that she would make a fierce Alpha. Late bloomers were always the strongest after all._

_He was still a gangly young boy, though he fancied himself a man. Serving as his sister’s squire, he was able to see her up close. To see her hair like spun gold and the way her eyes flashed with each new victory._

_Laura had complained that he spent more time mooning after than actually squiring for her. He might have resented her for those remarks, if all the thoughts in his head hadn’t disappeared the moment the Crown Princess’s eyes fell on him._

_She smiled at him and his heart was hers._

_She had suitors and, some whispered, lovers by the scores, but she had chosen him._

_All summer she strung him along with heated looks over the banquet table and ‘secret’ trysts in the stables or wherever they could find a moment. He had been so naïve back then, thinking that they were being so clever when it was plain as day to everyone with half a wit. His mother had far more than that._

_It was only later that he could see the callousness in her smile and viciousness in her laugh. How she had teased information out of him. How she collected secrets and filed them away for later exploitation._

_It was only when the summer was ending that he approached the subject of a formal betrothal. How giddy he was at the prospect of taking her before his mother, imagining how his family would share in his joy._

_How cruelly she had laughed at him. That same laugh that had echoed in his mind the night his family burned._

Feeling his claws digging into the flesh of his palm, he took a deep breath to get himself under control, but the images still clouded his mind.

After their ‘affair’, he’d broken down and confessed everything to Laura, who in turn told their mother. The worst part was that his mother hadn't even scolded him. Later, when Kate was ransacking the country looking for an Alpha to help her keep the throne, his mother hadn’t even let her in the Castle gates. Derek knew it was that humiliation that had sealed his family’s fate.

That and the information she had so carelessly revealed to her and so cowardly failed to tell his mother. There had been a blind spot in one of the guard towers that he and his younger sister Cora used to take advantage of to sneak out. Thank the Gods he hadn’t known about the tunnel then, or he probably would have told her about that as well.

Later, people had said that Princess Katherine had changed after she lost the Throne. Derek knew better. She had always been a viper. It had just been easier to forgive her faults before she had shown her fangs.

“This time will be different,” he swore. “It will never happen again.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I'm sorry for the long wait and I'm sorry it's so short, but maybe if I do shorter chapters I can get them out quicker.
> 
> I will try to post another chapter soon.
> 
> Thank you, all my lovely readers who have held out this long. I'll do my best not to let you down.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and critiques equal love and I really want to know what people think of it so far!
> 
> Also, I will go more into the Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics in future chapters :)


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